request a prompt
by hourglasshero
Summary: discontinued.
1. introduction

**Introduction.**

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Hey there! Thanks for checking this out!

As the summary states, my muse has been hectic and I just want to write some drabbles or one-shots to help get it back into place when I can't write for the things I _want_ to write for. This will likely just serve me as a distraction! But it's also to interact with my readers and see their creativity and write for the things they envision!

Though, I _do_ have a few guidelines that I'd like to mention. Just a few!

 **1.)** Not all prompts you leave have to be romantic! I'm willing to do platonic prompts, or plotcentric prompts, tragedy, angst, etc. The only thing I won't do is lemons, rip. But a prompt can be anything, seriously! A scenario, a setting, a song, etc.! Get creative, I'm ready.

 **2.)** As far as ships _do_ go, I'm down for just about anything. I'm not a big fan of Gakupo ships though, so I won't really do any ships with him aside from Lily, Luka and Kaito. Plus, I won't do Len/Meiko or Len/Luka. ;; Sorry! I'm also not the biggest fan of Len/Miku either, but I'm still willing to do them if I like the prompt enough!

 **3.)** On the other hand, I love rarepairs, and am willing to write for any rarepair sent my way. Like shower me in rarepairs. Please. The rarest of the rarepairs. I need.

 **4.)** I prefer shoujo ai/yuri and shounen ai/yaoi but I'm still willing to do ships that don't involve them!

 **5.)** I love non-canonical family headcannons so much. Like, Luka/Yuuma/Ia as siblings, or Mizki/Tei as siblings. Shower me in those as well! Please!

 **6.)** If you'd like, you can leave me extra details in your prompt suggestions, such as word max/min, genre, characters used, etc.! I'm totally up for ideas that make it very specific and solid! But I don't mind it vague either!

 **7.)** Feel free to leave multiple prompts/pairing suggestions! I'll try to do as much as I can! And I'll try to finish the oneshot asap, it'll just depend on my muse when I receive it.

 **8.)** Mutuals! /finger-guns/ I'm counting on you guys to leave me some really nice prompts, since you know me and my ships so well and are all so creative. But, it's just as well for new people! Don't be afraid! I don't bite, and I'm willing to take anything you'd like for me to write into consideration.

 **9.)** I love poly ships. So much. Gumi/Luka/Miku especially. And Len/Kaito/Rin! And VY2/Yukari/IA! Don't be afraid to suggest poly ships, whether they be platonic or romantic! I just love them.

 **10.)** I will do AUs but I won't do crossovers! And I'll also do songfics as well!

 **11.)** Also, I'm willing to change my perspective (first, second, third) and tense (past, present, future) if you'd like!

If all of that was kind of too long to read, then I'll just leave a format below that you can use! All you really need is a prompt, everything else is optional.

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Prompt:  
Pairing (optional, but preferred- can be platonic or romantic):  
Other characters (optional):  
Time limit (optional):  
Word max/min (optional):  
Perspective (optional):  
Tense (optional):

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I think that does it! So, with that said and done, please go right ahead and give me your ideas and suggestions. I'm eager to see what you guys think of!


	2. what's left behind (fukase & kokone)

**Prompt:** You think you can make something out of first meetings, Fukase, his red hair, his weird body horror aesthetic, and a city-like setting.

 **Pairing:** Fukase/Kokone.

 **Requested by:** UntitledReader.

* * *

She sits, and she waits.

The bench is cold beneath her. She adjusts her weight every so often to get comfortable, but it's no use. The wood digs into her thighs, her back, her neck. She coils her arms around herself, lips quivering at the gentle touch of autumn upon them. The sky is black, the stars are hidden by the smog of the brightly shining city just beyond her, and in the midst of it, she is alone.

She doesn't have to be. She could be at Galaco's party right now, dancing in a mass of moving bodies, sweating and drinking spiked punch and watching all of the girls around her collect numbers in swarms of permanent marker across their arms and chests.

Or she could be at home with her screaming parents, hiding in her room and wasting time blasting music through her headphones and clicking through blog after blog on Tumblr.

She could be straining her fingers trying to do something she knows she'll never be able to do, the strings of the guitar cutting into her skin, willing to go deeper, deeper until they've pierced her chest.

She could be at the mall buying clothes to help cheer her up, fixating on which pastel colors suit her the best until she realizes that it's all the same, they're the same colors they have always been.

But instead, for reasons she doesn't understand, Kokone is here, hugging herself under a street lamp by a sign that reads in big, bold letters _Bus Stop_ , and she's shivering and it's starting to rain, and she's thinking, _I should really be heading home_ , but she doesn't want to. She doesn't want to go home, she doesn't want to face her parents, doesn't want to face Galaco or her guitar or all of the clothes she wishes could make her feel like a meaningful human being.

She's here. She shouldn't be here, but she is, and she isn't going to turn around now. The neon lights of her home aren't strong enough to lure her back into them.

Feebly, her knees curl into her chest, and she clutches them, face buried in between. She doesn't want to have to see the city as she leaves it.

"Oh. Are you okay?"

Kokone jerks her head up so quickly it knocks her feet back onto the gravel beneath her.

The street lamp flickers.

"I'm-" She cuts herself off upon realizing the tear tracks streaming down her face. Pursing her lips, she brushes them away with the sleeves of her coat, mortified that her vulnerability could creep up on her so quickly. "I'm fine," she finishes weakly, her voice hoarse and choked.

But that's always the lie, isn't it? No one ever says, "I'm fine," and means it.

The silhouette standing in the darkness before her stays silent for a long while. In the darkness, she can't make out quite what they look like, but there's a noticeable amount of red in their eyes, and their hair is shaggy and unkempt, hanging in messy waves to their chin.

She swallows. This is a stranger. Her parents seldom warned her about them, but she knows better than to engage in conversation with them.

"Mind if I sit?" they ask. Her blood runs cold.

"Um." _No, you can't_ , she wants to retort, but this _is_ a bus stop after all, and she can't refuse letting them wait for their ride. "Yeah, okay. Go ahead."

They step forward, a shadow amongst even more shadows. The street lamp seems to brighten and brighten as they near her, and then she _sees_ them, and if Kokone thought her blood ran cold before, then it's frozen now.

This _them_ is not a _them_ at all; it's a boy, shorter than herself, slumped, hunched and looking nearly as defeated as she feels.

But that's not the part that has her suffocating.

That is left completely to his face.

It's as if someone bashed his cheek in with a rock and then quickly decided that they could inflate what had been crushed again. The skin is dry and crooked and veiny and _grey_ on the left side, creeping from the tip of his forehead all the way down to his jawline, disappearing into the collar of his baggy white jacket, where she is certain it continues. His eye is red, purely red, with no iris, no... _anything_ , just a blank expanse of violent, bloody crimson. The corner of his lip is sewn shut in a tidy _x_ , and the letter is mimicked in bright scarlet over his nose.

He says, "What? Scared?" and it's then that she realizes she has been staring at him with something far stronger than curiosity.

Her cheeks flush. "No, I-"

"No worries, kiddo," he interrupts, sitting beside her; close, too close, enough that their thighs are almost touching. But she has no desire to move away. "I don't expect anything different nowadays! It's gruesome, isn't it?" He cracks a delirious smile. The stitching at his mouth creases against the skin of his cheek.

"What do you want?" is all she can respond with, because she's so terrified but so intrigued by him.

He quirks a thin red brow, his eyes wide like he doesn't quite understand what she's saying. "Hm? Oh, I don't want anything, not really. I just thought it'd be nice to chat, y'know? Not very common to see a girl all by herself on a Saturday night."

She says nothing. She just looks at him, hands trembling in her lap. This feels like a trick, a trap. Like something horrible is bound to happen.

As if noticing her skepticism, he barks out a laugh, rolling his eye and flinging his arms over the back of the bench, legs crossed. "No need to be _this_ horrified, geez," he snickers, cocking his head at her. He doesn't bother hiding the once-over he provides, which is fair. Kokone didn't try to her hide her ogling, either. "The name's Fukase," he continues after a moment, the humor fleeing his features. "There. That clear things up?"

"Um." Kokone glances around, expecting someone to come up behind her and scream, _You've been pranked!_ so she doesn't feel so timid. But nothing comes, and she lets her shoulders relax and says, "Kokone. I'm Kokone."

"Really? I was expecting something less... _fluffy_. Something more mysterious." Fukase shrugs, his eyes glinting in the blinding street light just before the bulb falters, goes black, and screams back to life a second later, overwhelming and all-consuming.

Kokone tucks a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear. It tumbles out and tickles her chin in eager disobedience. "Where are you from?" she asks, averting her gaze to her shoes so she doesn't to have look at the mangled remains that were once his face.

"Here," Fukase responds. Either he doesn't notice her ignorance to his face, or he just doesn't care. "I've lived here my entire life."

"Me too," Kokone whispers. _Which is all the more reason to leave it behind._

"Really now? Where are you going that could top the city, huh?" Fukase laughs. She can feel him adjust his position beside her.

"Anywhere," Kokone says before she can think of what's coming from her lips. Her cheeks heat, but she presses on. "Anywhere is better than here."

Fukase starts, his eyebrows lifting in one effortless motion. "You don't know where you're going?"

"The destination doesn't matter," Kokone whispers under her breath, "it's the-"

"Journey that matters, right, right, all that bull," Fukase snorts, waving a hand dismissively. He slowly changes the direction of his hand to the small bag resting at Kokone's feet. "That doesn't seem like enough to have a journey with."

She musters a shrug.

He sighs, leaning back against the bench with a sense of irritation about him. "I'm trying to be helpful. It'd be nice if ya worked with me here."

"Helpful?" Kokone echoes. She spares him a brief glance that he greets her with full-blown eye contact. She sucks in a deep breath and goes back to scanning the ground. "I don't know how this is supposed to be helpful."

"Oh? I'll cut right to the chase, then." Fukase clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back, and says, "We're not so different, you and me."

"We're...not?"

He scoffs, but the amusement has returned. He no longer seems as if he's waiting for some kind of a reaction out of her. "You're not the only kid in the world that wants to run away," Fukase says, and his gaze is so bright that Kokone can't help meeting it.

"Huh?" she blurts stupidly.

"Three years ago," Fukase begins, and now it's _his_ turn to pull away, to look at the ground and twiddle his thumbs idly, "my mom left, and my dad hit me, and so I ran away. Funny thing is, I ran to this bus stop, this one exactly, thinking that no one would find me if I took a route so obscene."

"Did it work?" Kokone asks.

Fukase glares at her, a scowl twisting his face. "Of course not." He dips a finger down, back bent over his legs, so that he can write something into the dirt. Or maybe he's just doodling. Kokone can't tell from here.

"I was about two stops in when my dad caught up to me and dragged me back home. I told him I hated him. And then-" Fukase's nose points toward the city, his finger lifting from the dirt to trace the grey on his body "-he did _this_ to me. He annihilated my body without remorse." He pauses for a moment, then adds, softly, "They're burns."

"He... _burnt_ you?"

"I'm not gonna bother going into detail," Fukase mumbles, "but he walked out after that, and I was taken to the hospital to get treated, then thrown into a home, and I haven't seen him since."

Kokone gapes. She finds her hand on his shoulder, and he doesn't so much as flinch at the touch. "I'm-"

He lifts a hand to silence her. "I don't need you to pity me," he says roughly. When the malice has settled, he faces her, dropping his fingers onto her hand. It seems so natural. It's like they've done this before.

But she can tell- they're both thriving off the comfort of somebody else.

"No one would adopt me," Fukase continues, "because I was considered _ugly_. Deformed. People would rather go for the cute little kids, the toddlers, not some pre-teen that looked like he'd climbed out of the pits of Hell. So you know what I did? I left, and I fended for myself, and now I'm here, I'm like this, without a home or a family, and it's all because I _did_ what you're about to _do_."

He draws himself away from her, and Kokone reciprocates the action, hands to herself, clutching at her chest for oxygen.

"Do you love your parents? In spite of everything, in spite of what they might say or do, do you genuinely love them?"

Kokone thinks back to all of the times she's witnessed her mother scream at her father, witnessed them in each other's faces, shrieking and hitting. She thinks of them sleeping in separate beds. Her father crying when her mother kicked him out that first time, how he crawled back and her mother accepted him with soft apologies and a warm embrace.

She thinks back to all of the times they have _never_ involved her, never tried to hurt or blame her, how they've come into her room one at a time to stroke her hair and tell her they love her.

"Of course I do," Kokone says. They raised her, they loved her, even if they didn't love each other.

"And what about your friends, huh? What are they worth to you?"

"Everything," Kokone whispers, because they _do_. Galaco, with all of her giggling and smiling and party throwing and glittering eyes. Anon, with her intellectual advice and her ability to clamber out of every situation. Yuuma, with his reassuring pats on the back and dumb, hilarious ideas. She thinks of them, of whether or not they'd miss her, if she'd miss them. The answer is so obvious, so why does she keep pretending it's not even there?

Fukase is grinning now, his gloved fist tapping apprehensively against his thigh. "What's something you're good at? What can you do with your life?"

"I-" What _can_ she do? Play the guitar and fail at it? Forever? There has to be something else. She...She can _dance_ , and she's pretty damn good at math; doesn't that count for something? "I can...I can do whatever I want," Kokone murmurs, chewing down on her knuckles because it feels _amazing_ to admit that. "I can do whatever I want."

"You have so much love in your life, so much potential. Do you really want to run away from that, Kokone? Do you want to spend every moment regretting that you stepped on this bus? Do you want to end up like _this_ , like _me_ , disgusting and morbid and a freak?"

"You're not a freak," Kokone says weakly.

"I'm not? Well, you'd be the first to think otherwise," Fukase replies, blunt and stoic, his eyes boring into hers. "Don't do it," he says. "You'll just get caught and things will be even worse than they were before."

 _You don't know that_. She would have said that to anyone else, but the thing about Fukase is he _does_ know. Somehow, she found a person that _does_.

The sound of wheels screeching over gravel and pavement rings in Kokone's ears. She holds her breath, whipping her head in the direction that the bus is coming from, barrelling toward them at a speed that is too slow, that is taking too long.

It pulls to a halt in front of her. The doors open.

She needs to make a decision. She needs to make one now.

Fukase stares at her, and the vibe just reeks of, _Well?_

She is paralyzed. She can't move. Her legs won't walk her up the steps onto the bus. She twitches, aching desperately to leave, but she just _can't_ , she's grounded. This is where the road ends. This is as far as she can go. She's going to rip up the one-way plane ticket she bought. She's not going to hitch this ride to the airport, because didn't she know that's where she was going to go all along?

The doors shut, and that's it. That's the sound of her fate being sealed. The vehicle rumbles away, and Kokone watches it go, her heart throbbing in her throat.

Fukase's palm touches her knuckles.

Kokone stumbles into reality once more and looks at him.

He grins. She can feel herself working up a delicate smile that can just hardly break the surface of her features. But it's there, somewhere. It's real.

"Feel better?" Fukase asks.

Kokone nods. "So much better," she breathes.

He rises to his feet, dusts his bulky jacket off, and says, "Then my work here is done." He turns around on his heel, giving a little wave over his shoulder, and it hits Kokone hard that he walked into her life just to disappear again, as quick as the wind, like a ghost that had never been there at all.

But he understands her. He knows that she's aching inside, and through all of his scars, Kokone _gets_ that, she gets that he's aching inside, too.

"Wait!" she blurts, lunging out of the bench to grapple for his sleeve. She heaves a heavy breath when he peers over his shoulder to look at her. "You...You didn't let me say thank you."

"You just did," Fukase says. He starts to move off again, but Kokone yelps and tugs at his jacket for a second time. She doesn't want him to leave. She doesn't know why, but she really, _really_ doesn't want him to leave.

"Stop, stop," she says urgently, and he sighs, relenting...smiling. It's a crooked smile, not very pleasant, maybe a grimace if nothing else, but it's _there_. She can see it. "Wait."

He gyrates on his heel, looking up at her, arms crossed solid and steady across his chest. "I'm waiting-"

"Let's go out for, um. A snack. Or something."

Fukase's expression shudders with something like baffled bewilderment. "What? Like...Like right now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, right now." Kokone swallows. "To celebrate."

He doesn't seem to catch her drift. It's like he wants a reason.

"You just saved me. I feel like I owe you."

"You really _don't_ think I'm freak," Fukase mutters, a thumb brushing down the dilapidated side of his weathered face. Kokone watches, tempted to imitate the action. Instead, she clenches her hands at her sides, straightens her posture, and nods.

"If you're a freak, then I'm a freak," she says.

Fukase flashes her in an inhuman grin, all teeth and barely any lips. His hair flops into his face, and he swipes it out with a quick flick of his wrist. Then, he extends the same hand to her, gracious and maybe a little awkward. "Shall we?" he asks.

And Kokone doesn't hesitate to take his hand, thinking, _This guy_ , the moment she feels the explosive contact resonate within her.

She smiles, leaves her mistakes behind her, and says, "We shall."

* * *

 **This was really fun to write tbh. I hope it fit your standards and what you were looking for, Noe! ;;**

 **Next up:** Mayu/Haku.


	3. breathing in sulfur (mayu & haku)

**Prompt:** Can I request my favorite crackship, Mayu/Haku?

 **Pairing:** Mayu/Haku.

 **Requested by:** theunhappytwins.

*tw for blood, violence, suicidal thoughts, and just mayu as a yandere in its entirety.

* * *

It shouldn't be this difficult to kill someone who already wants to die.

But Mayu is struggling.

Haku is sitting on the couch drinking cheap wine from an even cheaper wine glass. The TV is blaring some crap that Mayu can't tolerate to listen to. It's dark, darker than it's been in a long while. Mayu could so easily creep up on Haku right now, slice her head clean off of her body and watch her lifeless corpse tumble to the floor. She could clean the splotches of blood on the carpet before Gumi and Neru returned home from shopping and no would ever even notice that this old hag was gone.

She could do it. She could. And she wants to. More than anything else, she wants to.

But she doesn't.

She finds herself seated on the cushion beside Haku. She finds her hands clasped neatly in the black lace of her dress. She finds herself _smiling_ , all fake and doll-like (not that Haku, her oblivious self, would ever notice). She finds herself asking through the blinding color flashing on her face, "What are you watching?"

Haku takes a swig of her wine. She slumps lower into the couch, blinking blearily, grunting out what sounds like, "I dunno."

Mayu's grin widens. She says, "Oh," and as if it's some kind of cue, Haku winds an arm around her waist and they fall into a silence that has Mayu wanting to crush the fingers touching her with a mallet over and over and over again until they break off and dissolve into the sofa.

"It was an accident," Mayu will say, and everyone will believe her.

But today is just not that day.

.

Mayu doesn't love Haku. Haku most _certainly_ does not love Mayu.

Except, some days, she does.

Some days Haku's touch is more affectionate. It lingers. She'll tuck a loose strand of hair behind Mayu's ear or adjust her bow, and she'll wear that disgustingly sloppy, lazy smirk of hers, like she's looking at a piece of delicious meat but doesn't quite want to eat it yet.

Mayu relishes in this, the days that Haku is fond of her. It makes the sickening urge within her so much stronger, yet so much more challenging to fulfill.

They don't exchange "I love you's", but who cares?

Absentminded intimacy is all that it takes to be satisfied.

.

In public, in front of all of their friends, Haku twines her fingers with Mayu's.

Neru casts them a glance that says, _Oh, come on_ , but everyone else that notices must not care, because they don't say a word.

Mayu grips Haku's hand so hard she hopes she breaks it.

.

"I should just kill myself."

 _Here she goes again,_ Mayu thinks. She grits her teeth. Her fingers tense in the silk she's been sewing together for the last half an hour.

"No, you shouldn't," Mayu says. Her lips wrench into a smile. She's not here to comfort Haku, and Haku knows this, so why does she bother to say stupid things like this? "So many people love you."

"They don't," Haku says. Her shoulders slump, she stumbles into the counter, and it takes all of Mayu's effort not to roll her eyes and plunge the needle in her hands into Haku's chest. She's so frustrating. She's so obnoxious, but she's so much _fun_ to play with.

"I need you," Mayu says, and she feels something. She feels the way her expression goes thick and rotten at the words because, _please_ , like she needs this sack of emotions and intoxication in her life.

She could do so much better.

 _So why don't I?_

Haku hiccups. She glances over her shoulder, cocks her head, and whispers, "Really?"

 _Of course not, you oaf._

Mayu giggles, claps her hands together, and responds easily, "Of course, silly! Now, come here and drink some tea with me, won't you?"

.

Every so often, Haku leans over Mayu's shoulder when she's working, reeking of booze and sweat, and breathing heavy odor all across Mayu's neck.

Mayu doesn't say a word about it. She clears her throat, spreads the page of rough sketches she's been working on wider over her desk, and peers up at Haku. "Do you like them?" she asks.

"They're perfect," Haku says. One of her deep violet fingernails points at a doodle of a dress in the top left corner. "This one especially."

 _Maybe I should bury you in it, then,_ Mayu thinks.

She adjusts the grip of her pencil in the palm of her clammy hand. "Thank you!" she chimes, and resumes drawing with Haku's chin resting atop the crest of her head. She doesn't think about how easy it would be to bludgeon her jaw off, or pierce her glittering red eyes with the sharp tip of her pencil.

She concentrates on her drawings, just that.

It manages to soothe her.

.

Haku looks nothing short of a kicked puppy when the others harass her. She closes in on herself, fidgets with her fingers, bites her lip.

It looks so pitiful that Mayu wouldn't mind slapping the expression off.

And she would.

She would if she wasn't too busy telling Cul and Yukari to mind their own business.

That's not how she tends to go about these things, but for some reason, today, it's different. She opens her mouth, jabs a perfectly manicured finger into Cul's chest and commands her to leave Haku alone. She'd much rather watch them belittle her companion. Really, she would. Yet, she's not. They're fleeing, looking unnerved and perhaps a little infuriated.

Haku wipes a stray tear off of her cheek and sniffles.

"Don't cry," Mayu murmurs, and cradles Haku's face in her hands.

She cries anyway.

.

The opportunity to exterminate this burden stands at Mayu's feet once more.

She stares at it, stares at Haku's frame, sleeping peacefully beside her, and she thinks that it would be so easy to slit her throat and lay a sweet crimson upon the stark white sheets that cover them.

She could do it. She could grab the flower vase off of the nightstand and smash it into the wall. She could use the glass as her weapon. Or maybe she could take the vase directly to Haku's skull.

Neru would sprint into the room, gasping for breath, demanding, "What happened?" and the rest of her frilly, irritable companions would be at her heels in seconds, saying, "I heard a scream," and, "Is everything okay?" and that _nonsense_ that Mayu doesn't comprehend.

No one should be sorrowful over Haku's death. No one should find any value in her life.

No one except for Mayu.

She swallows down a budding lump in her throat, fists clenching in the mattress. Her nails tear holes through the duvet. Sweat pours from her forehead in a waterfall, matting her hair to her face.

No one should care about Haku except for _her_ , and she does and she doesn't all the same.

Haku gives her flowers. Haku touches her hesitantly and tenderly, like she's the doll that she feels like she is and not the human that she should be. Haku never says, "I love you," never binds her to commitment. Haku doesn't kiss her. Haku drinks too much but she makes Mayu tea. Haku counts the stars to fall asleep. Haku tells her she looks stunning. Haku cries into Mayu's arms and Mayu loves it.

Mayu thinks that she might love _her_.

And that is unacceptable.

She doesn't fall back asleep that night. She doesn't quite know if she'll ever fall asleep again.

.

"I love you."

The words are accompanied by a hot mouth pressed against her own not a day after Mayu realizes that she could really love this monstrosity. It has her skin burning and her heart aching and her mind screaming, _Do it, kill her, now is your chance._

 _Before this escalates to far._

Haku tilts Mayu's chin back with her thumb. Her other hand settles itself on Mayu's hip, caressing circles into her dress rather than her skin.

And that's it. This is all Mayu can take.

Her arm snakes away from her side, clatters around for the first thing she can find. She isn't sure what it is that she's holding, but she uses it regardless, plunging it without thought into Haku's exposed throat like all of her fantasies have begged of her to do.

But it feels nothing like she expected it to; there is no bloodlust, there is no rush of adrenaline from the liquid spilling out over her ashen white knuckles, there is no pleasure from the aching scream that peels itself away from Haku's lips because _there is no scream to begin with_.

Haku just _stares,_ wide-eyed and mouth hanging slack, drawing from Mayu's as it floods with blood that pours down her chin, her already spewing neck.

"You…" she sputters. She staggers backward, thuds brutally against the wall where she scratches against it for support. Her breath picks up, rushed and haggard, her eyes terrified and hurt.

Mayu is amazed to find that she's crying. Her face is wet and the bloodied scissors in her hands shake with the tremors that seize her. "You're such a mopey waste of space," Mayu whispers. "All you do is drink and cry and complain. But you _love_ me. You love me. Why? Why, why?" She clutches at her hair. She breathes in, breathes out, and she realizes she's not breathing at all.

She blacks out.

.

When she comes to, she is hovering over Haku's bloody form that is sprawled haphazardly across the floor, screaming wildly and slamming an axe repeatedly into Haku's chest. The axe catches momentarily, withdraws in a geyser of gushing red, heaves over Mayu's shoulder, and does it over and over and _over_ again.

Mayu grows exhausted. It's the natural thing to do when you've been working hard for such a long time on something that doesn't matter to you.

Except, that it does.

She collapses to her knees, searching through a mess of mutilated flesh for Haku's shoulders. She gropes them, hefts the limp body upwards, and stares at its unbreathing, unconscious self.

"I love you, too," Mayu says, and she can't stop laughing. She's crying, sure, but the laughter tastes so much better than the saltiness of her tears.

Neither of them will stop, they just won't _stop_.

 _Is this what you wanted? Is it? Is it, is it?_

She clutches Haku to her chest, her throat raw and hoarse from the words she can longer force out of it.

"Why, why, why?"

She doesn't know why.

She has no idea why, but she did this.

She did this and she can't undo it.

.

The needle pricks her thumb sharply enough to draw blood.

She smears it onto the fabric before her, humming under her breath.

"You liked this one, didn't you?" she whispers. "You can wear it when I'm done."

.

Mayu recalls Iroha once telling her, _Smiles just look so much more beautiful coming from the dead._

As she glances down at the mess she's made, at the dress hanging loosely over Haku's tattered shoulders, she thinks that Iroha is wrong.

She thinks, _There is absolutely nothing beautiful in death._

She thinks that, for once in her life, she might be the one that's right.

* * *

 **I don't even know what this is, but again, it was fun to write. :')) Yanderes are something I don't write for often so this was weirD. I hope you enjoyed this, theunhappytwins! You have a very interesting taste in rarepairs but I'm most certainly not complaining, pft.**

 **Also! Thank you for everyone who has participated thus far! I'll be doing all of your requests, even if it kills me!**

 **Next up:** Mikuo/Miku.


	4. from one to zero (mikuo & miku)

**Prompt:** It started with a chance meeting on a film-set.

 **Pairing:** Mikuo/Miku.

 **Requested by:** Ano.

* * *

"I'm not working with him. You can't make me!"

"Hey! It's not like I want to be here any more than you do!"

"Then why don't you just _leave_?!"

"What?! No way! I was here first! _You_ should be the one leaving!"

"I'm not leaving! If anyone leaves, it should be you, Mr. Talentless!"

"Talentless?! I have ten times more talent than you do!"

Bickering is not uncommon on set. Actually, it's kind of an everyday thing. Things go wrong, people get mad, tension gets heated- it's just the way it tends to go.

But, as seen by the rest of the cast, Mikuo and Miku take this to another level entirely.

They haven't been casted for an entire day and they've already screamed more insults at each other than Kiyoteru and Meiko can count. The directors glance at each other, eyebrows raised, and slowly avert their attention back to the tealettes violently shrieking in center stage.

Kiyoteru brings his megaphone up to his mouth and announces, "Uh. You two. C'mere."

Mikuo and Miku break apart from their snarling staring contest to jerk their heads toward Kiyoteru. "Wait, _us_?" they say in tandem, and it's amazing how two people so alike can hate each other so much within the first few seconds of standing in the same vicinity.

"Yes, _you_ ," Kiyoteru sighs. He drops the megaphone back to the ground, thanking Meiko for her comforting pat on his shoulder before she hobbles away to go boss some of the other cast members around.

Mikuo and Miku approach him slowly, pouting with their arms crossed. They halt before Kiyoteru, sneering at each other until he says, "What's the issue?"

Miku doesn't give Mikuo a chance to open his mouth. She's already hissing out, "I refuse to work with a total jerk!"

"I'm not a jerk!" Mikuo protests.

"Tell that to me _ten years ago_!"

"What?! You're _still_ holding a grudge over that?!"

"Oh, you'd expect me to _forget_ that you stole my best friend, and then my _life_!"

"I didn't mean to! It just...It just kinda happened!"

Kiyoteru sets an elbow on the wooden armrest of his chair, chin planted lazily in the cusp of his palm. "Are you done yet?" he asks.

"No!" Miku forces out. She's so red with rage that Kiyoteru wouldn't even feel surprised if her ears started steaming.

"Look," he says, "I don't care what sexual tension the two of you have together. This is a _movie_ and I expect you both to be the professional actors that I know you can be, not two whiny brats."

"Excuse me-"

Kiyoteru raises his hand to silence them. "Take a breather, grow up, and then get back out there and rock the stage. Don't disappoint me."

Miku's shoulders slump in defeat, and Mikuo doesn't bother disguising the heaving roll of his eyes. But they oblige all the same, parting ways to go prepare for the first scene shoot.

Kiyoteru raises his megaphone to his lips again, gives a thumbs-up to the rest of the cast, and shouts, "Action!"

.

" _Miku, I'd like to introduce you to the Watnabe's, and their son, Mikuo!"_

 _He glared at her._

 _She glared right back._

" _We're going to give the Watnabe's a quick tour of the neighborhood. Would you two mind sticking together until we get back?"_

 _She said nothing._

 _He said nothing back._

" _Um. I'll take that as a yes? We'll be back real soon. Behave!"_

 _She lead him into the house and asked, "Where are you from?" as she collapsed on the couch._

 _He folded his arms, glanced around the lounge, and shrugged. "What's it matter?"_

" _I'm trying to be nice," she bit back, narrowing her eyes at him. "You're in_ my _town, now. You could try to be nice, too."_

 _He ignored her completely, disappearing into the kitchen with a look of utter disinterest._

 _She decided almost instantaneously that she hated him._

" _Whatever."_

.

"Do you even know how to read a script?! Have you even been _practicing_?!"

"Of course I have! God, the wording's just confusing!"

"It's, like, the easiest line in the freaking movie! It's only going to get worse!"

"Well, _fine_ then! If it's so _easy_ , then how about _you_ read it, Princess?!"

"I told you not to call me that!"

"Cut," Kiyoteru calls from his chair. Beside him, Meiko buries her face in her hands and lets out an elongated groan of defeat.

Mikuo and Miku scamper off stage to join him, their teeth grit, their fingers clenched tightly in their costumes.

"What is it _this_ time?"

"Mikuo doesn't know his lines," Miku spits.

"I do! I'm just anxious because she yells at me whenever I do something wrong, which is _everything_ , apparently!"

Kiyoteru pinches the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "You two _do_ realize that you're the lead roles of this movie, right?"

Their shoulders hunch, the anger dissipating piece by piece at a time. "Yes," they murmur.

"And you _do_ realize that I can recast you any time I want until the trailer comes out. Right?"

Another hunch. "Yes."

"But you know I don't _want_ to that because you're both very talented."

"Yes."

"Good, then." Kiyoteru puffs out his cheeks, leans back, and shrugs idly. "Well. Take two, I guess."

.

" _You're back?"_

 _She poked her head up over edge of the sofa the moment she heard his footsteps padding into the house._

 _He shrugged, all laid-back and too-cool-for-you._

" _Our parents are friends now. I don't have a choice."_

 _He unzipped his hoodie and tossed it lazily onto the back of a chair before collapsing next to Miku on the sofa._

 _She instinctively scooted away from him, drawing her knees to her chest, and said, "You've been spending a lot of time with my friends, too."_

" _What? You have cool friends."_

 _He reached for the remote, hesitated, and then placed his hand back in his lap._

 _She pursed her lips. The silence was overwhelming._

" _Do you want anything to eat? I was thinking about making some ramen."_

 _He raised an eyebrow at her, making a noncommittal sound with his throat. "I don't care."_

 _She cracked her knuckles and headed briskly for the kitchen, pigtails bobbing at her waist._

" _I'm just trying to be nice."_

.

"I tried to be nice to you for _years_ , and all you ever did was reject me!"

"Because I thought you hated me! And it's not like I ever thought I'd see you again after high school!"

"Well, _surprise_! Here I am, and it looks like _neither_ of us have changed!"

"Are you kidding me?! I _have_ , I've changed more than I knew I could because I didn't want to be the same jerk I was to you when we were kids!"

Miku's fist twitches. She bares her teeth in a sneer and shouts, "Thanks to you, I never knew _how_ to change!"

Something in Mikuo's expression falters. He opens his mouth to say something, but it's interrupted by Miku slamming her fist into his jaw and knocking him straight off of his feet onto the ground.

The regret on her own face is immediate. "Oh my God," she murmurs, "I'm so-"

" _Cut_!" Kiyoteru shouts, and the cast and crew make one loud buzz of frustration. "Hatsune, Watnabe! Outside, _now_!"

In the three weeks they've been filming, Kiyoteru has never _once_ called them out of the building. This is a first, and both Mikuo and Miku feel as if they're starting to need it.

Miku offers a hand to Mikuo. He glares at her, brushes it off, and picks himself up, storming after Kiyoteru with Miku following on his heels a few heartbeats later.

They end up by the front of the studio. Kiyoteru takes a moment to compose himself before saying, "This is enough. This is as bad as I'm going to let this get." He flicks his intimidating chestnut gaze from Miku to Mikuo and back again. "One week. You're going on a one week break. Both of you."

"Wait, _what_ -"

"No. Let me finish." Kiyoteru heaves an exhausted exhale. "In that one week, you're going to sort whatever... _this_ is out, and you're going to figure out how to get along. If you can manage to do that by next Tuesday, I'll let you stay. If not…" He draws a line across his throat with the tip of his finger. "You're out, and you'll be recasted. Kyo and Lily are going to be your placeholders until further notice."

Miku takes a lunge for him. "You can't _do_ this-"

Mikuo juts his arm out in front of her, keeping her at bay. "He can," he says, "and he will." Once Miku has calmed herself, he drops his arm down to his side and adds, "We'll get better! I promise."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kiyoteru says, and he almost, _almost_ manages a smile. "Now get the hell out of here before I _literally_ _kick you out._ "

.

" _What do you mean you can't hang out tonight?"_

 _He wrung his wrists out anxiously in front of him._

 _She rested her hands on her hips, trying desperately to suppress the hurt bubbling up inside of her._

" _Um. I'm going to Mikuo's party. Sorry."_

 _He looked at her from across the room, but his gaze was gone just as quickly._

 _She grit her teeth and looked back at Matsudappoiyo._

" _You could always come too, you know. You live next door, so-"_

 _She jabbed a finger into his chest, hissing, "You know damn well I don't want to go anywhere near that twat."_

 _He recoiled, teeth worrying vigorously on his lower lip._

" _I don't get it. I don't get why you hate him so much."_

 _She took a step closer._

 _He took a step back._

" _I hate him because no matter how hard I try, he won't give me any attention. I'm nice to him; he's not nice back. I refuse to tolerate that. So have fun at his stupid party! Without me!"_

.

"Look, I'm really sorry about...You know. Punching you. In the face."

"It's fine. I mean, you could have done much worse, and...I shouldn't have brought up your mom like that either. That was a jerk move."

"That's...fair, but it's still not _fine_. I got us kicked out of a freaking movie, for God's sake."

Miku adjusts the ice pack she has pressed against Mikuo's cheek. He grits his teeth, shifts, and tilts his head begrudgingly into the pressure. Once he's relaxed, he says, "We're not technically being _kicked out_. We're, uh. Just on hiatus. I guess?"

"Yeah," Miku mutters. "Hiatus. Until we...get along."

Mikuo clears his throat, flitting his gaze away from Miku's to the floor. "Thanks for inviting me over," he says, an obvious attempt at changing the subject. "It's pretty cozy here."

"Oh, um. Thanks. I mean- you're welcome. Yeah. I'd just, you know, feel bad having you go home with a bruised face and bloody nose." Miku pauses, withdrawing the ice pack to peer at the blooming bruise on Mikuo's jaw. She didn't even know she had the ability to hit someone so hard. "Plus I thought this would be a good start."

"To what? Bonding?"

Miku lifts her shoulders, lips pursed in a straight line. She inhales through her nose, tucks her hands neatly behind her back.

"Precisely."

And to both her surprise and her delight, Mikuo laughs. It suits him, the way it lilts his lips and makes his eyes sparkle.

"Liar. You really did change, didn't you?"

Miku shakes her head, disbelieving. "Barely," she whispers. "Barely, but enough."

.

" _Hatsune! Emotion! Expression! Let me know how you feel without you having to speak!"_

 _She huffed out an agitated breath, wiped the sweat off of her brow with the script, and ran through the scene again, forcing every last bit of herself into the words._

 _He watched her from the crowd, bored and annoyed, vying for her part. And it drove her insane. She had to try harder._

" _Alright, okay, stop. That's enough. Watnabe, you're up!"_

 _She felt her breath catch in her throat. "You're cutting me out already?" But he didn't respond, simply waited for her to step off stage so Mikuo could replace her._

 _He did, and he blew her away. He became everything she wasn't in the blink of an eye._

" _Perfect! Just a little bit louder, and you've got it!"_

 _He grinned, carding his hand through his hair. The girls beside Miku went crazy with laughter and giggles, forcing her to slump into her seat, arms crossed and face a pout._

 _She didn't bother watching the rest of the auditions. She stood, gave Mikuo a piercing glare behind her bangs, and stormed out of the auditorium with her pride dripping off of her shoulders to land in a puddle beneath her._

" _Hey, Miku, slow down!"_

 _She sped up._

 _He was the one to slow down, to watch her round the corner and fade out of the building. But she heard him say what it was she bet he'd wanted to say all along._

" _You can't always be better than everyone else!"_

.

"This tastes like crap. Do you seriously come here regularly?"

"Hey! It's not _that_ bad...Okay, it _is_ , but this is the only cafe in, like, a ten mile radius of my apartment."

Raising an eyebrow, Miku takes a sip of her horrible-tasting coffee and says, "That's ridiculous. There's plenty around here. You can walk out of any place and there's probably a cafe outside of it."

Mikuo frowns, finishing off his coffee in one final swig. He sets the empty cup down and gives Miku a measly shrug. "So maybe I like this terrible coffee. Just a little bit," he mumbles.

"Very eccentric taste," Miku huffs. As she places her cup aside, she spreads a script out in front of her and taps one of her nails against a page. "Start from here. Act three, scene two."

"Alright," Mikuo agrees.

They share the script, going from one to the other, eliciting a few stares from passerby when Miku yells at Mikuo for his idiocy, only to quickly apologize and to tell him she's just very stressed, and very much so missing their roles in the movie.

Mikuo calls her an arrogant prick under his breath every so often, and she responds with hitting him upside the head with the script.

By the end of the session, however, they've made significant progress in both their insults, considering there were much less than last time, _and_ their parts. At this rate, Miku can verify that Kyo and Lily are getting booted within the end of the week.

This is _their_ movie, this is _their_ chance, and no one is going to take it away.

"Good job. You're not so talentless, after all," Miku says quietly as she slips the script back into her purse and rises to her feet.

"Really? That's a pretty big compliment from you."

Miku grins feebly, tilting her head at him. "I try," she muses. Then, the humor melts off of her face and she shrinks into herself. "Again, I'm really sorry-"

Mikuo cuts her off, sharp and simple, his eyes betraying him with their intense emotion. "I get it," he says. "We both are."

In an instant that Miku can't even cognize, she decides that she no longer hates Watnabe Mikuo. She decides she never hated him in the first place.

She steps forward, wraps her arms around his waist, and squeezes. Eventually, he does too, and they're standing in the middle of a cafe embracing, and Miku can hear Mikuo's heart racing, and she doesn't mind and this is perhaps the most comforting thing she's experienced in such a long time.

"Yeah," she whispers. "We are."

.

" _Mikuo, would you by any chance want to come on vacation with us next week? What with your parents being away and all."_

 _She choked so hard on her vegetables that it took every ounce of effort within her not to crumple to the floor wheezing for breath._

 _He peered up from where he was picking at his greens, confused but pleased. "I'd like that," he said._

" _Wonderful! We always just feel like it must be so lonely at home by yourself all of the time."_

 _He waved a hand nonchalantly, like it didn't even bother him. But it had to bother him. He couldn't just go around being totally unfazed by everything._

 _She wiped her mouth with a napkin, eyes narrowed at her plate of beaten mush._

" _I thought this was a family trip."_

 _She let their eyes roam over her. She let their confusion and their surprise envelop her as her mother said, "Well, Mikuo_ is _really part of the family. Wouldn't you say?"_

 _He clicked his tongue, avoiding to meet her gaze._

" _No. He's not."_

 _He tightened his grip around his fork._

 _She stood up, the legs of her feet scraping across the tile floor. Someone went to say something, but she was already making her way toward her bedroom, trembling, aching, blinking back furious tears._

" _If you wanted a son so badly than you should have traded me in when I was born instead of replacing me now!"_

.

"Well, to say I'm surprised would be the biggest understatement of the century. I figured one of you would be dead by today."

Mikuo flashes a perky smile. He slings an arm around Miku's shoulder and says eagerly, "What can I say? A week can change a person."

"A lot," Miku adds.

Kiyoteru shakes his head at them, but it's obvious he's trying to suppress the same smile that the two before him are shamelessly bearing. "I'm glad you're back," he says. "Really. Kyo and Lily have got nothing on the two of you."

Before either of them can thank him, he quickly continues, "Now, we have no time to waste. Back to work! They're expecting the trailer in a few weeks! We need to make a move on this! No more individual practice!" With that, he stumbles off toward Meiko, who mentions something that neither Mikuo nor Miku can distinguish.

They turn to each other, letting the silence of the moment linger in between them.

Then, Mikuo juts out a hand and says, "Hey, it's nice to be working with you. My name's Watnabe Mikuo."

Miku furrows her brow, folding her arms over her chest. "What are you doing?" she asks.

"Isn't it obvious?" He nods at his extended hand. "I'm starting over."

"...Huh?"

"We're not kids anymore, Miku. We can't keep clinging to what happened back then, you know? We've gotta move on. Apologies aren't gonna keep us grounded forever," Mikuo explains. "So that's why I'm proposing we start over. Not as Mikuo the jerk and Miku the Princess. Just. As us. As Mikuo and Miku. Just us."

She stares at him for a long, _long_ time. The gears in her head spin to life, and slowly, she touches his palm with her own, coils her fingers over his knuckles, and shakes.

"Hatsune Miku. The pleasure's all mine."

.

" _I'm so sorry."_

 _She listened to them. They came and went, every single one of them, with the same words dripping off of their tongues._

 _He just so happened to be one of them._

" _Yeah. Right."_

 _He swallowed, twitching his fists into his thighs from where he hovered beside her. "No, I...Miku, I never would have wanted this to happen to you. To anyone. I'm really sorry."_

 _She shook her head, mumbling, "It's all your fault." And she meant it._

" _You can't- I know you hate me, okay? But you can't blame me for this."_

 _She clenched the black fabric sticking to her hips, eyelids wrenching shut. "She loved you more than me. That's why she did what she did for you, and that's why she's gone. It's all your fault," she said, her voice rising with every word._

 _He touched her wrist. She jolted away._

" _Don't touch me! Don't talk to me! Why can't you understand that I just want you out of my life?!"_

 _He panicked. She could see it all across his face, the way he was terrified. "Christ, Princess, why can't_ you _understand that not everyone in the world is out to get you?! I'm trying, you know?! I'm trying to be nice to you but you make it so hard!"_

 _She rushed past him, brisk and hurried, tearing through the heated crowd to get outside, to get away from him._

" _Just leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone."_

 _And he did._

 _For longer than Miku had ever intended, he did._

.

They sit on the couch in Miku's apartment, hands clenched into fists, excitement flooding the atmosphere as they wait in apprehension for their show to switch back to commercials so they can see it for the first time, all on their own. See what they've created.

"Come on, come on," Mikuo mutters, gnawing on his fingernails, feet drumming against the wooden floor.

Miku joins him, throwing a slipper at the TV and screeching, "Hurry up!"

A moment later, the commercials draw in. They lean closer to the TV, hearts racing so loudly that it feels like the only sound in the room is their steady beating.

Then Miku throws herself at Mikuo, pulling at his face, his hair, giggling and pointing and hugging him all at once. "Look! Look, it's us! It's _us_!"

"Yeah, I know, I see!" Mikuo cries, and he's hugging her, too, as she squeals into his neck.

On the TV is the trailer they've been waiting for forever, displaying them in their costumes with their weaponry and their makeup and their _everything_ , the life essence they've poured into these characters.

When the trailer comes to a close, Miku is still yelling, and Mikuo is grinning like an idiot, and neither one of them sees to know how to get the other to stop.

Until, suddenly, they do.

Mikuo leans in first, and then Miku does, and they both know immediately what it is they're about to do.

Their noses bump. All of the noise settles. The TV is a mere din and Miku isn't screaming and Mikuo isn't quite sure whether or not he's smiling.

This doesn't feel quite right.

And yet, it does.

Mikuo touches Miku's neck and guides her forward. His nose hitches against her cheek, and she squeaks out a dainty, excited noise when his lips come into contact with hers. She lets her eyes close, pressing closer to him, refusing to move any other part of her.

He pulls away about the same time she does, releasing awkward, haggard breaths. They look at each other, quietly.

And they start laughing.

"Did we seriously just-"

"Holy crap, we _did_!"

"What the hell?!"

"Why did we do that?!"

"I don't know!" Miku squeals, clasping her hands over her mouth, scrambling toward the edge of the sofa. "I don't know!"

"Uh. Oh God, this is so _weird_ -"

"No, it- it was okay! I...kind of enjoyed it!"

"Seriously?"

"...Yeah! Seriously!"

"Should...Should we try it again?"

Miku throws her arms over her head. "I don't see why not!"

So Mikuo leans in again, and everything from their childhood so quickly fades into nothing.

The relief of starting over is something they both could easily get used to.

* * *

 **This? Originally started off as something completely different, like. Miku stumbled into celebrity Mikuo on a film-set since she was lost, but that felt too cliché so? It became this. idK, this probably isn't what you were going for, Ano, but I tried something new with this prompt and it just got hectic. ;; I hope you liked it regardless!**

 **Next up:** vFlower/VY2.


	5. wilted (vflower & yuuma)

**Prompt:** Okay so I would appreciate literally anything with Yuuma and/or vFlower because obv they're my children.

 **Pairing:** vFlower/VY2.

 **Requested by:** Gewlface.

* * *

They met in a meadow that teetered on the bridge of Hell and Earth, clad in their cloaks, in feathers and flowers, the both of them confused by the other's presence, but allured. They stared, stiff and unmoving, refusing to break the silence until he stepped toward her, and she stumbled back, startling the birds from their perch in the tree above her, sending them into a screeching flock of silhouettes engulfed by the orange glow of the sun.

'Sorry!' was the first thing out of his mouth, and before he could stop himself, he was reaching for her, and she was just watching him as he did, her violet eyes rich with panic and adrenaline. 'I didn't mean to scare you like that.'

She said nothing. Her gaze only drifted from his hand to his face, where she shamelessly studied the pink markings stretched across his dark cheeks.

For a moment, they remained like that, stuck still in time, not a word between them. Then, tentatively, her palm met his, frigid and delicate in contrast to the warmth he constantly familiarized himself with. He graciously hefted her to her feet, letting the touch linger for only a second longer than necessary.

But she pulled away immediately, reeling into herself to declare, 'I wasn't watching you,' and the moment was gone, just like that.

He let his hand fall away to his side, his attention fixing on the tree that she was awkwardly leaning against, the black tendrils that leaked out from the tips of her fingers onto the bark, and- oh.

 _Oh._

She seemed to note where he was looking; her eyes fell upon the tree, widened into saucers, and blinked back surprise as she gasped and drew away from it. There was a long pause, her teeth biting into her knuckles as the blackness seeped out of her feet and into the grass, rotting it into decay.

'I shouldn't be here,' she whispered, breaking the thick tension of silence. 'I should-'

'You're from the Underworld,' he said matter-of-factly.

At the mention, she recoiled, her hands moving to her ears, gripping at her hair. 'I can leave,' she started, 'if you want. I shouldn't even have been-'

'Why are you freaking out?' he asked. 'It's okay. I bet it gets lonely down there, all by yourself.'

She curled her arms around her waist and said in a mutter, 'I heard you talking to the birds, and, I...I don't know. I don't know.'

He took a moment to consider the words carefully in his mind. Then: '...Flower. That's your name, right?'

'Ironic, isn't it?'

'Maybe just a little,' he laughed. When he saw that her own amusement had faded, he added quickly, 'I'm Yuuma.'

'I know.'

'You do?'

She snorted, and he _swore_ , he saw the slightest hint of red hue her face. 'Who doesn't? You're the son of _Life_. Everyone knows who you are. Even me.'

'You make it sound like it's a bad thing.'

'Well, it...' Her fingers trailed up the sleeves of her cloak, apprehensive and sheepish. 'It _is_.'

'...It is?'

'Yes, it _is_ ,' Flower said, and her voice started to dwindle down to a whisper, to nothing but a quiet buzz as she continued, 'because I'm not supposed to think you're as pretty as you are.'

'...You're calling me pretty?' Yuuma felt a grin split his lips, felt his entire body grow giddy with excitement. 'That's not very original, you know.'

Flower shot him a glare, though Yuuma couldn't find any malice within it. He only saw a tenderness that felt too surreal for Death to possess. He only saw admiration, which slowly dove into disappointment as she said, 'I really should be going-'

'No.' His hand caught her wrist, and that was it. 'Stay.'

That was finality.

.

'You don't have to hide from me anymore. I know you're there.'

She tensed, peering up at him from where she was seated at the base of her favorite oak tree, greeted by his bright eyes and even brighter smile. She allowed for herself to meld into silence only a little while longer before she whisked herself up, brushing the rotted leaves from off her garb, refusing to meet his gaze.

'You know,' Yuuma chided, cross-armed as he leaned against the tree's trunk, 'you really live up to the entire _Death is mysterious_ stereotype. Is that intentional?'

Flower scoffed. 'It's not _mysterious_ ; it's _I've been alone for as long as I can remember, what are social skills_?'

She started at the pleasant laughter that bubbled off his tongue. 'You've been talking to me just fine!' he said, cheek flush against a black stain on the tree trunk. With his touch, the mark subsided, flooding with a heavy chestnut color, refurbishing the health of the bark Flower had corroded.

Her fingers fisted in the fabric of her cloak. 'You healed it,' she murmured.

'Huh?' Yuuma pushed himself away from the tree, cast it one hearty look, and, slowly, his lips twisted into a grin. 'Oh, yeah. I do that sometimes.'

'Sometimes?'

'Right. Sometimes,' he confirmed. 'It kind of only does it when it wants to. When I look at something I like, for example!'

She cocked her head at him. 'Are...you trying to say that you... _like_ me?'

Yuuma blinked, his smile only going to the extent of widening. 'Of course! Unless that's still a bad thing for you,' he mused.

'No, it's…' Flower pressed the palm of her hand to her chin, shoulders lifting idly. 'It's just a first, is all.'

'...Come with me,' Yuuma said, backing away from her and into the meadow, beckoning her half-heartedly with soft flicks of his wrist.

'I can't,' Flower replied. She glanced weakly at the crumpled wilderness beneath her. 'I'll...I'll hurt it.'

Yuuma shook his head, extending a hand toward her, smiling unsurely as he always seemed to do, like he could never do anything else. 'And I'll fix it,' he promised.

She should have known that believing him would never uphold the outcome she wanted.

.

He handed to her a flower with little significance about it and said, 'Here.'

She side-eyed it, then the patch of deteriorating wildflowers just outside of where she was sitting, and he saw that he had happened to kick her back into the cycle of self-deprecating thoughts she always tended to stumble into. By now, he should have grown used to seeing that she'd reject his determined offerings.

But today, she somehow managed to surprise him. After a silence that spanned far too long than what was considered comfortable between the two of them, she delicately plucked the flower from his fingers and muttered, 'Thank you.'

Yuuma grinned, though it lasted for less than a heartbeat as he watched the flower wilt in her hand, drooping lazily onto her knuckle as first one petal was shed, and soon a second, a third, until it was stripped bare of its beauty, nothing but a stem of lifelessness in her clutch.

She dropped her gaze.

'Hey,' Yuuma soothed. 'It'll be alright.'

He hesitantly coiled his fingers around her palm, around the flower, and squeezed gently as it twitched graciously to life again, blooming in the midst of their meeting hands. Flower stared at it, awestruck, and Yuuma mustered up the courage to beam at her, all toothy and dumb until he saw that her own lips were lilting, her cheeks heating red.

'We counteract each other, you know?' he whispered. 'We balance what the other one does. What I overpopulate, you reduce. What you destroy, I rebuild. If not for you, if not for me, both existing here _together_ , then there'd be too much of one thing and not enough of another.'

Flower shifted her body to face him, their knees touching in the darkening grass of the meadow. She tightened her grip on his hands, swallowing. 'We clash too much.'

'We're supposed to.'

'Not like this, Yuuma. Not like-'

'Exactly like this.'

He scooted forward, touching his forehead to hers, the flower wavering in their entwined hands.

And they stayed like that.

For as long as they could, they stayed.

.

As it happened, she kept wishing that it would stop.

It wasn't often she lost her temper. Not on Yuuma, at least. Not on someone undeserving of seeing that side of her, the monster that buried its way deep inside.

He hadn't meant it, she was sure. He had said, 'My mother knows about our relationship,' but he hadn't meant it.

He couldn't have.

Flower could feel the rose in their clasped hands lean toward her favor. Yuuma released a sharp sounding squeak, his fist clenching around her fingers to keep it from wilting.

'You're...not serious, are you?' she asked, her gaze boring holes into the ground.

Yuuma went rigid beside her. His shoulder brushed hers, and just as quickly pulled away, as if her touch was already becoming forbidden to him. 'I am,' he said softly. 'I...I tried to tell her that you were good, you really were, you're not anything like what Father _says_ you're like, but she...She didn't believe me, and…' He bit his lower lip, fingers trembling in her own. 'I don't think we can meet like this anymore, Flower.'

She yanked his hand away from his, placing it firmly in her lap. He reached for her, tenacious and hurried, but she was quicker, already moving in the opposite direction.

The anger boiling beneath her skin didn't feel like anger at all; it was despair, grieving and aching and like no other emotion she had ever felt before. And it poured out of her in gallons, greying the meadow, slaughtering the flowers she had come to love with all of her being, decaying the trees until they were leafless and dark.

'Flower,' Yuuma started, panic exploding resolutely on his face. He tipped his hand toward her, the flower they'd kept together in their meeting touches left discarded in the remnants of grass beside him, wilted. 'Flower, wait-'

' _You can't leave_!' she screeched, and the words sent Yuuma riveting away from her, scrambling clumsily in the crumbling dirt beneath his fingers. ' _I won't let her take you away from me_! _I won't let her_!'

'Flower, _please_ ,' he tried again, his yellow eyes electric with emotions that she was _so undeserving of_. 'It's risky, I don't want anything _bad_ to happen to you because of _me_ , okay? _Please_ , I just want to protect you-'

' _Protect me_?!' She was standing suddenly, and her hand found his arm, and she could see it, could see how he flinched at her grip, could see how the skin beneath her fingers flecked and blemished to its own accord. ' _You're not protecting anything! Look! Look at what you've done_!' She gestured wildly to the Earth around them, the meadow that collapsed from a haven to nothing but ruins.

Yuuma stared at her, pleading, his arm quaking, blood oozing from an unseen wound. ' _Please_ ,' he said, soft and delicate, 'everything's going to be alright.'

But it wasn't. She could see full and well that things couldn't possibly always turn out alright.

The ground split at her feet, shrouding them in a cloud of choking smog. He writhed against her restraints, blurting out a series of words that fell upon deaf ears.

Flower held fast to him, sick with greed and obsession and desire, the profanity that her brothers had shamed her for possessing over all of these years she'd strayed away from them.

'If I can't color your world,' she murmured, drawing his face to hers, the Underworld firmly swaddling them in its cusp, 'then you're going to color mine.'

The Earth gave out, and so did they.

.

He wasn't quite a prisoner, but he wasn't a guest either.

Yuuma realized this quickly after his first day in the Underworld, curled up in the darkness of the room Flower had gifted him, wandering the halls and freezing whenever that horrifying three-headed mutt of hers spotted him. He'd come to the conclusion that even if somewhere inside of him he had an intense love for her, a love that his mother nor his father would ever understand, he couldn't stay here.

And thusly so, he became a prisoner and a guest all the same.

'I can't stay here, Flower,' he'd told her as they seated themselves around the ceaseless flames of the Great Hall. 'I need to go home. I've seen what it's like up there.'

She had, too. He'd seen _her_ staring hopelessly up at the barren wasteland that had become Earth all thanks to him leaving, thanks to the fear of his mother. The situation was dire, and they both could agree easily on that.

Yet, Flower was ornery. She had told him, cold and distant, 'You can't go home. You can't. It won't be the same if you leave.'

Now here they were, days later, seated on a couch with nothing to say and even less to do, sullen and somber and at a loss. The argument was over. Yuuma had eaten the seeds of pomegranate she'd given him even if he _knew_ , even if he was aware that it would destroy any chance he had at returning to Earth. Flower knew, he knew, they all just seemed to know.

'She's going to come for me eventually,' Yuuma whispered, his fingers tangling with hers. She leaned against him, her nose prodding into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

'I know,' she said.

But knowing was only half the battle, wasn't it?

.

'Give me back my son.'

Flower had seen the confrontation coming since the very beginning. She had. Mizki was Life, after all, and no Goddess of such a thing would willingly give up the son that would one day carry on her legacy.

'No,' Flower said.

'Stop being selfish. What's become of the world is yours to blame,' Mizki hissed. 'Now, give me back my son.'

Flower sucked in a deep breath and calmly repeated, 'No.'

Mizki's eyes narrowed into slits, resembling Yuuma's own far too much for comfort. It was enough to force Flower to look away, until a familiar hand grazed her elbow, and her senses snapped back into place.

' _Son_.'

From beside Flower, Yuuma unveiled himself, his soft magenta hair long and matted and filthy, the daisies tucked behind his ears withered, the paint on his arms awash. 'Mother,' he said, and Flower had never felt such a hideous envy sink its teeth into her chest.

Mizki lurched for him, arms outstretched, eyes glassy with tears. Flower intercepted her, thrusting herself in front of Yuuma and precariously keeping his mother at bay.

'Flower,' Yuuma whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder. 'It's okay.'

'It's not,' she snapped back. 'She's going to try to take you away again.'

'He's been here long enough, _beast_ ,' Mizki said, her voice desperate and anxious. Yet Flower felt no sympathy. She felt no remorse for what she had done.

'Maybe he wants to stay.'

As if offended by the idea, Mizki covered her mouth with her thin, pale hands. 'Nonsense,' she crooned. 'He would never-'

'I do,' he said, and Flower felt bitterly comforted by his hand as it locked with hers, right where it was meant to be.

'No. No, I won't allow this. You're coming home, Yuuma. The Earth can't have you shy away from it any longer.'

'You're right,' Yuuma said. 'Which is why I propose a deal to benefit all of us.'

'A deal...?' Flower echoed. She slackened from him, disoriented. 'What are you talking about?'

Yuuma righteously advanced toward his mother, smiling at her, earnest and true. He took her hands in his, where they didn't quite fit, didn't slot together, and he told her, 'We can split the year, Mother. For some time, I can stay with you, and the Earth can bloom, and for another time, I can stay with Flower, and the Earth can suffer.'

'That's a horrendous idea, and you know it-'

'Nine months, Mother,' Yuuma said. 'Nine months with you, and three with her. That's all I ask.'

Mizki peeled her gaze away from her son to look at Flower, as if to ask, _Why do you do this to us_? But to that question, Death could never find an answer. She glared at her feet, silent, and as if taking this an answer, Mizki turned back to Yuuma.

'Very well,' she whispered, brushing a thumb over his cheek. 'If...that's what you wish, if that's how it must be, then I...I can grow to accept it. I will.'

'Thank you,' Yuuma whispered, throwing his arms around her and bringing her against him

When they broke from their embrace, Mizki approached Flower, nimble and elegant and so disgustingly perfect. 'You,' she said, 'take care of him. Won't you?'

'Of course,' Flower replied. 'Always.'

Mizki nodded, muttered something that sounded like, 'Good,' and with the wind, she was gone, a memory in the fading rays of daylight.

With her absence, Yuuma returned back to Flower's side, where he wrapped himself in her arms and said, 'I'm sorry, but that's the only thing I could think of. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-'

'It's alright,' she whispered, because using the words he'd for so long fed to her seemed right. 'I'd rather have some of you than none.' And gently, she settled her hands in his hair, held his face to her chest, and said nothing.

Three months, and that was all.

But three months could very well be enough.

.

Three months came, and nine months went, and the Earth had its source of Life for as long as it could, even if Flower, alone, did not.

In that time, she held a rose in her hands, whether it be wilted or not, and saw herself within it. And even more so, she saw him.

She hoped that he saw her in every flower he came upon, too.

.

'It's been awhile, hasn't it?'

He materialized, clad in black just to her liking, taking a knee and bowing to her, the flower crown atop his head dropping to the ground.

Flower stepped past it, right to him, and smiled. 'No need to be so formal.'

He ignored her, as he so often tended to do. He took her hand instead, kissed the edges of her fingers, and said, 'I missed you,' as he stood and did nothing more than look lovingly into her eyes.

'Me too,' Flower whispered.

In the palm of her hand, for the first time, the rose she'd held onto for all of these passing months, finally, _finally_ , bloomed.

When she lifted it higher, it did not wilt. No matter for how long she held it, the rose refused to wilt.

It seemed fitting.

Every flower would one day blossom.

First, it just had to find its sun.

* * *

 **This was _shamelessly_ a twist on Hades and Persephone, more of a Death/Life thing than like legit Hades/Persephone BUT STILL, I...I struggled writing this but at the same time loved it, I don't know, this pairing is reALLy cute tho.**

 **Next up:** sibling!Len/Miku.


	6. as well as you know me (len, miku, luka)

**Prompt:** Sibling bonds vary but she never saw two as close as them.

 **Pairing:** sibling!Len/Miku, Luka. platonic!Len/Luka/Miku.

 **Requested by:** UntitledReader.

* * *

For as long as Luka has known Len, she has, by way of her being Len's sister, known Miku.

Luka had met Len first, all the way back in elementary school. She'd been sitting alone during recess, flipping idly through the book her older brother had given to her, when Len plopped down beside her and asked, "D'you wanna come play with us?"

She jolted out of her reverie to look at him, eyes wide and fingers clenched around the outer pages of her novel. What faced her was a chipper kid, with neat blonde hair that tickled his chin and a gap between his two front teeth. He was scrawny and small and bursting with energy. He was Luka's polar opposite. Somehow, for some reason, that was what so easily made them friends.

"Um. Not really," Luka replied, shifting away from him and returning to scan over the words in her book.

Len shifted closer. "Hm? Alright then." He glanced down at her lap and pointed to the cover of her novel. "What'cha readin'?"

" _Tirade_ ," Luka said. "A fantasy thing-"

"I've read that!" Len blurted, smiling. "Well, started to, anyway. It's good, ain't it?"

Luka narrowed her eyes at him. " _Isn't_ ," she corrected. "'It's good, _isn't_ it'."

He rolled his eyes at her, draping an arm over the back of the bench they were sprawled upon. "Same difference," he said, and then, after a moment of heavy contemplation, cracked another grin and added, "I'm Len, by the way." He extended a hand toward her.

Hesitantly, Luka accepted it, giving it an awkward shake. "Luka," she said.

And, in a flurry of motion, a blue blob threw itself over the back of the bench, tumbled in between Len and Luka, and landed face-first on the ground, feet kicked up over Luka's lap as Luka squealed and thrust herself in the opposite direction, book hugged tightly to her chest.

"Oh," Len said, nudging the coughing figure with the toe of his dirty sneaker, "and this is my sister, Miku!"

"Hi!" Miku screeched, flailing wildly into a sitting position and spitting up chunks of dirt from inside her mouth. She scrubbed at her lips with the back of her hand, then peered up at Luka, beaming.

She was, in nearly every way, similar to Len. The same vibrant turquoise eyes, the same tan skin, the same impossibly bright smile, the same lean, lithe figure that made Luka cross her arms tightly over her childhood chubbiness. The only way that one could tell the two siblings apart was by the tiny teal pigtails atop Miku's head.

As Luka's heart settled, her vision adjusting to the vibrant lights now roaming pleasantly in her vicinity, she thought: _I'm screwed_.

She forced a tight-lipped smile anyways and said, "It's nice to meet you...?"

From that day forward, her fate with friends was hopelessly, utterly sealed.

Luka has always been okay with that.

.

In their later years of elementary, Luka found that Len and Miku weren't as similar as she'd first determined them to be. While Len made friends like it was the easiest thing in the world, Miku didn't. Miku would stammer and stutter over her words when talking to strangers (she explained later to Luka that she was the only exception), and occasionally, in the worst scenario, cry until she wiped herself out emotionally.

Len never accepted this. He'd take Miku by the wrist and lead her into his group of friends, introducing her and telling them to play nice with her, too. When they wouldn't, and dismissed Miku from their group, Len would follow.

They would sit by a tree trunk and talk, knees tucked safely to their chins, pointing out the shapes in the clouds. After Luka had squeezed her way into their life, she would join them, Miku's head on her shoulder as she sniffled about her awkwardness and Len tugging her pigtails, assuring her that everything was going to be fine; they had Luka now, after all.

Just like that, Luka had become their lifeline. Their anchor.

She would be the one to hold them in place when everything went wrong. Of that, all three of them were forever certain.

. . .

It was their first year of junior high when Luka heard about the situation Miku and Len's parents were in.

Apparently, they'd been arguing on and off for the last couple of weeks to the point where Len and Miku had locked themselves in one of their rooms, blasted their music or the TV, and sat and waited for it to be over.

Other times, they'd slip out the window and either walk or ride their bikes to Luka's house. Every time, she'd welcome them with a sigh and a query of, "Your parents again?" They'd nod, or shrug, or something in between, and Luka would smile sympathetically, ruffle their hair, and let them inside.

Len would often tell Luka that it didn't bother him as much as it bothered Miku.

"She just kinda...shuts down, y'know?" he said one afternoon on Luka's couch. Miku had fallen asleep with her head in Luka's lap, giving Len leeway to talk about her in a quiet whisper. "The moment they open their mouths she starts _bawling_ and runs up to my room."

"Are they- your parents, do...Do you think they might be considering divorce?" Luka asked.

Len winced like the question had slapped him. He absently twirled a thread of his shorts around his finger. "Maybe," he muttered. "I really don't want them to, though."

Luka tousled his hair and leaned a cheek against his temple. "Of course you don't. Gakupo and I would never want our mum and dad to get divorced, either. No one does, really. No one."

"I just know it'll break Miku's heart, dude. Like, I just...I dunno. It's complicated."

"Everything these days is complicated."

"Agreed."

Luka leaned back into the cushions, changed the channel, and let herself slowly slip into a lulling daze.

.

"Luka? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Perhaps it was their last year of junior high that Luka had heard this come from Miku's lips. She'd been closing her locker when Miku sidled up beside her, glum and ashen and staring at her feet, as had been her constant recent expression.

The divorce still had yet to come, so Luka had heard. She didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Considering Miku's self breaking into pieces, Luka was leaning toward bad.

"What's up?" Luka asked, leaning back against her locker.

Miku bit her lip. "It's, uh." She tugged at a pigtail, which had finally grown out to her waist like she'd been hoping for it to. "I've been thinking that, um, I...I might be...like...not...into _guys_ , if that...if...Oh my God, this is embarrassing! Pretend I didn't say anything!" She tilted her bright red face toward the floor, shoulders hunched, and turned to leave.

Luka grappled for her shirt sleeve and kept her in place.

"You've been thinking about your sexuality?"

"...Yeah, it's...um. J-just...I mean, have you _seen_ Meiko? How could I _not_ \- don't laugh! This is a serious matter!"

"Right, right," Luka said, biting down her laughter and wiping the corner of her eye with her thumb. She inhaled through her nose and placed a hand on Miku's shoulder. "Have you talked to Len about this?"

Miku shook her head, pouting. "No...I'm kinda nervous to," she admitted in a mutter.

"Miku," Luka said firmly, the humor wiped flat from her countenance. "He's your _brother_. He's always been there for you, hasn't he? I think he'd give better advice for this than me, anyway."

"You think?" Miku asked hopefully.

"I'm certain," Luka said, squeezing Miku's shoulder. "Now-"

"What'cha guys talkin' 'bout?"

The two jumped at Len, standing not a foot away from, twisting his shaggy hair back into a sloppy ponytail with a heavy incline to his furrowed brows.

Miku reddened, tensed around the textbooks gathered in her arms, and said in a rush, "I think I might be lesbian goodbye see you at the end of the day okay!" before yelling and sprinting off down the hallway, leaving Len to look at Luka with his mouth agape.

"Did she just say she thinks she might be a lesbian?" Len asked.

"Yep," Luka said. "You should probably help her out with this one. You have the girl experience."

Len rolled his eyes, shoved at her chest, but grinned all the same. "We're gonna be late," he snorted as she shoved him back. "I don't wanna 'nother detention."

"Me neither. It's already ruined my reputation once. I don't want it to happen _again_."

Len chortled, and Luka followed him toward their homeroom. She spared a single glance behind her, and wondered, helplessly, if Miku was going to be okay throughout the spiraling voyage of chaos that seemed to be her life.

She hoped so. She really, really hoped so.

.

The divorce inevitably came.

With it, an option: "You can either come with me, or stay with your father."

The way Len continued to explain it had Luka thinking that he hadn't wanted an option. He'd wanted his parents to make that decision for him, because he'd wanted to go with their mother, even if Miku had wanted more than anything to stay with their father. But Len wouldn't abandon Miku. He would always put his sister first.

Which was someone how both Len and Miku decided they'd be staying with their father, even if hurt Len. Even if, in the end, it hurt them each individually, _and_ together.

They'd lost to the divorce. They should have known they always would.

Miku began isolating herself. Len started to look lost, like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to with the events that had taken place.

Somewhere in between, Luka had been caught.

There was so little she could do for her friends, but she'd be damned if she didn't at least _try_.

She headed to their house with a bag of snacks and some movies, long pink hair a braid wrapped tightly around her head. Miku had styled it like that back in elementary and Luka found she reverted to doing it every now and again.

She knocked on the front door, kissing her teeth, adjusting the bag slipping leisurely toward her elbow.

A moment later, the door flew open, and there was Len, grinning and a little sweaty, his braces glinting in the light of the sun shining in from behind them.

"Hey!" he said.

"Um." Luka flushed, attempting to peer over his head (which wasn't hard) into the lounge. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No! No way. You're just joinin' in on the fun. Come in!" Len stepped away from the door, and Luka blinked, amused, before stepping inside and closing the door behind her with her heel.

Len led her to the lounge, and as soon as she saw what lay waiting inside, the breath knocked itself from her lungs.

"Christ," she muttered.

Len laughed, throwing his arms above his head. "Isn't it great?!" he cried. With another triumphant croon of victory, he tossed himself back into the massive pillow fort constructed intricately around the entire frame of their living room. It was fit with blankets and the couch and shelves pushed away from the walls, the TV likely stowed safely inside the mesh. Somewhere.

"Where's Miku?" Luka asked, slowly approaching the entrance to the fort.

"In here!" a feminine voice cried. "Get in here, Luka! Do it! Do it now!"

Luka dropped the bag of treats at the entrance, kicked off her shoes, mumbling, "I'm coming, I'm coming," as she bent into a couch and scrambled inside.

Len and Miku were seated pleasantly in front of the TV, smiling and giggling in Luka's general direction. She had to be at least twice their size, and wriggling her way into the space without knocking any of the structure over was difficult. And humiliating.

"When the hell did you _make_ this?" Luka asked, ducking her head. She stepped toward her friends, settling beside Miku and shoving her bag in front of Len. "Better yet, _how_?"

"Well," Len said, already rifling through the selection of snacks and movies. "We were both feeling down, so we looked up some manuals online and decided they all sucked, so we made our own using details from all of them."

"We started last night, but then Dad came home and had us take it down, so we started over after school today," Miku explained.

Len grinned. "Turned out pretty great, didn't it?"

Luka huffed. "When you two put your minds together, it's impossible for anything to be considered otherwise."

The siblings blushed, nudged each other, and smiled as they selected a movie. Luka placed it in the DVD player and started it, giving a thumbs-up as she sat back down. Miku placed her head on Luka's shoulder, and Len kicked his feet into both Miku's and Luka's laps, and it was so simple.

It was so right.

.

Their third day of high school, and Len got into a scuffle with some of the older students. He was somewhat well-deservingly punched in the face. The force of the hit sent him tumbling to the ground with blood pooling from his nose, dripping down his chin to form a puddle beneath him.

Miku would have none of this.

She crossed the cafeteria with Luka panicking on her heels. She stopped beside her brother, tentatively touched his shoulder, and waited until he growled out an, "I'm fine," before helping him to his feet.

Then, Miku whipped around and swiftly, calmly decked Fukase in the jaw. He staggered, hit the wall, and let out a choking wheeze of breath.

"Holy shit," Luka and Len breathed in tandem, their voices barely louder than whispers.

Miku frowned, wiping the blood from her knuckles, and then Len's mouth. "Don't start fights," she said loudly enough for Fukase to hear. She grabbed Len by his wrist and dragged him briskly from the cafeteria.

Luka cast Fukase and his crew a quick glare, drawing a finger over her throat and slamming a knuckle into her palm. They cowered immediately.

Satisfied, Luka took off after Miku and Len, her adrenaline pumping loudly in her veins. Not that she minded.

When it came to these two, she never minded.

.

They sat on the rooftop of Luka's shed, the three of them, passing around a flask of vodka that Luka had stolen from Gakupo's room days ago.

Miku cringed and hissed every time she took a swig, but it didn't stop her from joining in all the same. The tealette wheezed on her last sip and said to Luka, "So, I told my dad I might be gay."

"Really now?" Luka swiped the flask from Miku's hands and put it to her lips. "How'd it go?"

Rubbing at her nose and coughing, eyes watering, Miku shrugged. "It...went okay, I guess? He said he didn't really support it, but if it made me happy being with a girl, then... _ough_ , then he wasn't going to stop me."

"That's not a terrible reaction," Luka said, raising a brow.

Len took the flask next, chugging down half the remaining contents as Miku continued, "Maybe not. But my mom, on the other hand…"

Len choked on his sip of vodka. " _She's gonna flip!_ " he cried, and Luka rolled her eyes, batting him upside the head. Drunk Len was a Len both she and Miku found very difficult to tolerate sometimes.

"I know she's going to flip," Miku whined, flinging herself against the roof. She covered her face with her sleeves. "Which is why I don't want to tell her yet."

"You don't really have to tell anyone. I mean, would you walk up to someone and tell them, 'I know it's hard to believe, but...I'm straight'? No. Why bother telling them the opposite?" Luka said.

"'Cause it's... _important_ ," Len slurred. He jutted an arm out toward the sky and nearly toppled off the side of the roof.

Luka ripped the flask from his fingers and screwed it shut. "That's enough alcohol for tonight," she muttered.

Len groaned but didn't argue. He simply rolled onto his side, staring at the garden as he mumbled, "Who cares what they think, Miku? I support you," and left Luka and Miku to quiet peace that lasted the rest of the night. They stared at the stars, and for a long time, they felt like they were infinite.

.

It's the last day of their first year at high school.

Luka is tapping her fingers impatiently against her thighs, reflecting, as she always tends to do. She thinks of Len and Miku, her best friends, her _family_ , throughout the years. She thinks of how they've grown, how they've changed, what they've become. She thinks of Gakupo, of how she and him have never been and will never be as close as Len and Miku.

She thinks of them taking turns to comfort each other.

She thinks of them high-fiving in the hallways after a successful prank.

She thinks of them standing up for each other.

She thinks of the countless times they've not only stood beside each other, but all the times they've stood beside _her_ as well, all the times they've held on and, in turn, she did, too.

She thinks that sibling bonds vary, but she's never met two as close as them, and she never will again.

Luka smiles to herself, her eyes welling, her face red at the sudden sheepishness of wanting so desperately to cry and tell them how much they mean to her and how proud of them she is. A fat, salty dollop drips from her chin onto her notebook, forcing her to cease writing the last notes of the year.

Once class ends, Luka bolts out into the hallway, surrounded by the chants of cheers of all the others that are eagerly awaiting summer. Luka already knows all of her plans; she's going to spend a week at the beach with her parents and Gakupo, and then she's going to come home and spend time with Len and Miku.

They know that, too.

They find each other outside, and immediately, Len and Miku's arms are around her, and Luka is hugging them back, squeezing them to her chest.

"We did it! One year down, two to go!" Miku shrieks.

Luka doesn't agree. It hasn't been one year, it won't just be two more. It's been ten years, and it will be ten more- no. A thousand more. As many as it takes for her to meet Len and Miku over and over and _over_ again.

Len laughs against Luka's chest, pulling away and glancing between the two girls. "Party at our house?" he asks, elbowing Miku.

"Obviously!" Miku giggles. She locks arms with her brother and with Luka, and they march down the street through the swarm of other kids doing the exact same.

For the first time in weeks, it feels like nothing is wrong.

Everything feels right. _It feels right._

Just like it should.

Luka smiles. Once she starts, she can't seem to stop.

* * *

 **I love sibling!Len/Miku and platonic!Len/Luka someone end my suffering this was so nice to write. I would've liked to expand more upon Len and Miku's relationship but it's hard through an outsider's perspective, y'know?**

 **Thanks for all the reviews and requests, by the way! It means a lot! Unfortunately, I'll be going back to school in two days, which means I won't have as much time for writing. Chapters will be coming much slower. My apologies for that ahead of time.**

 **Next up:** Miku/Ia.


	7. the jekyll to my hyde (miku & ia)

**Prompt:** 1.) How about a songfic mix between Jekyll  & Hyde and Streaming Heart? 2.) I was thinking, you should do a MikuIA based off of Jekyll and Hyde. Miku is in an abusive relationship, a split personality kills the guy involved and claims to love her, she falls for the personality, the personality manipulates her and basically in the end she tricks her into killing herself.

 **Pairing:** Miku/Ia, mentions of abusive!Miku/Kaito.

 **Requested by:** Nekuro Yamikawa (1)  & Gewlface (2).

* tw for mature context, mentions of abuse/non-con and murder/suicide.

* * *

 _I met a girl in the middle of rising pleasures  
_ _One who looks just like me  
_ " _I'll make that good girl into a doll—  
_ _I'll break her chains"_

It happens once, and after that, Miku doesn't think it will ever happen again.

Her body is smothered by writhing, flushed skin that taints her with trails of teeth and lips. She's sore, breathless, and aching for the moment when this stops—it _will_ stop—whenever that may be. Her fingernails have drawn blood from their grip on sturdy shoulder blades, carving out flesh as karma for what sanitation she has lost in her own.

It happens _then_ , when something akin to pleasure hits her from an out-of-body kind of experience. She's no longer in herself, but looking _down_ at herself from somewhere very far away.

A voice speaks out to her, calming and reassuring:

" _I will protect you, love_."

Miku swears that the words are accompanied by a soft caress of fingertips against her cheek, fingertips that can't possibly be _his_.

They're gone as quickly as they are there, and in their wake is a dimly lit presence of nothingness. An expanse of not quite blackness but not quite anything _definite_ is spread out before her, dancing right out of her reach.

A numb vibration of what could possibly be pain follows; suddenly, Miku is no longer floating above the bed that is stained in her own fluids. She is beneath a seething body that is spewing words she can't comprehend.

He's bleeding.

So is she.

His fist collides her with her face a second time, but the pain is dismal. The voice inside Miku's head is saying, " _I'll protect you, I'll protect you, I'll protect you_ ," and somehow, it is.

That is, until strong fingers coil themselves around Miku's throat and a breathy, "Bitch," escapes chapped, reddened lips. She can't see him, nor feel him, but she knows asphyxiation is coming for her. What little vision she has left is clotting, veiling her in splotches of black and crimson.

For a second time in the span of minutes, she's out, enveloped in the cold embrace of her own inner demons.

 _In this instant, my vision flutters to space  
_ _And this me I don't know...wounded him  
_ " _I won't ask you about that"  
_ " _Oh, you won't ask me"_

.

" _Quick, quick, quick. Leave your body"  
_ " _Not yet, let's have more fun—  
_ _Really you're happy, aren't you?"  
_ " _On what grounds do you say?"_

Days later, as Miku is inspecting the fading bruises lining her porcelain skin, she is interrupted by a familiar voice and a pair of blue eyes that gleam at her from somewhere beyond her mirror.

They are her own, and yet, they're not.

" _You're something else, aren't you, girl?"_

Miku swallows. She prominently tips back her chin, only to feel self-conscious about the scattered brown markings circling her throat, and lowers it again. She faces the invisible presence with as much confidence as she can muster otherwise. "I don't know what you're saying," she says.

" _You do. How could you love a monstrosity that has no greater desire than to fuck you and then cause harm to you?_ "

"He loves me!" Miku corrects, fists clenched firmly at her sides. "He...really loves me. You wouldn't understand."

" _How wouldn't I? I'm as much you as you are me._ "

There is a moment of silence. Only the steady thrum of the ticking clock mounted on the wall can be heard. With vigor, Miku swallows again, nervously. "I don't even know who you _are_ ," she whispers desperately.

And then, as if emerging from another world entirely, there is a girl stretching from out of Miku's mirror. Her delicate fingers are curling around Miku's chin, once more cocking it back to examine the bruises on her neck. Piles upon piles of braided pink hair flutter gracefully around her, obscuring the eyes that no doubt belong to Miku as much as they do _her_.

" _I am Ia,"_ she says soothingly. " _Think of me as your Guardian Angel, or what have you. Your protector._ "

A tremor quakes Miku's body, spilling tears down her cheeks. She grits her teeth in an attempt to suppress them and says, "He loves me."

" _Oh, darling,_ " Ia muses. She leans forward, a horrifically inhumane smile prying her lips across her features. " _Not as much as I do._ "

" _Because, because, because that's what you're like...  
_ _His betrayal—"  
_ _You didn't forgive it  
_ " _Isn't that right?"_

.

 _The mob wears a dress of hypocrisy—  
_ _Do you deceive?  
_ _Are you deceived?  
_ _Will you even gamble the future?_

He is an important man among his family, which provides perfect reason for him to be surrounded by others without her, sipping expensive wine as she watches from the sidelines, introverted.

He is an important man, which is excuse enough for most things.

But it is not excuse enough for the way his touch lingers just a little too long on a younger woman's shoulder, before sliding away to brush a loose strand of hair from her eyes. She is beautiful—Miku recognizes this—what with her cropped auburn hair and mischievous chestnut eyes and ample bust. She is tall and absolutely capable of taking care of herself.

What's more, her tan skin could so easily hide the bruises he would ruin her with. An easy replacement, Miku thinks. Unforgivable.

" _Loves you, does he?_ "

Miku jumps, her glass of wine nearly tumbling from out of her limp grip. Reflexes remain in her favor, however, and she catches it seconds prior to it having the chance to crash into the neat ceramic floor. "Not now," she ushers softly as she tries to compose herself.

" _You're wasting your time standing around here doing nothing. You could dispose of him so easily, without so much of a blink of an eye._ "

The statement causes Miku to choke on her sip of wine, the back of her hand drawing to her lips to disguise it. "That's inane," she hisses. A young woman strolling by raises a brow at the matter but is polite enough to keep her trap shut.

" _It wouldn't be hard. Snap his neck, girl. Rip out that traitorous heart of his. Devour it._ "

"No."

" _And why not? Because you love him, he loves you? Like some fairytale?_ "

"...No."

" _Then why?_ "

"The circumstance doesn't matter. I won't kill him, not for anything. Not for my sake."

" _Then whose? Perhaps...mine?_ "

If the entity was manifesting in front of her again, Miku thinks that she would be smiling that cryptic smile of hers.

"Perhaps," Miku mutters.

" _Perhaps_ ," Ia echoes. She takes a tentative step forward in the lockbox of Miku's mind, caringly smoothing her palm over the surface.

Miku frowns. "Don't you dare," she whispers, turning away toward the wall. "Not here. _Please_."

" _Too late_ ," Ia hums, and Miku is officially in that faraway place that isolates her in a shell of herself. Panic floods her, but it's distant and not quite part of her mentality. She feels a surge of adrenaline, a drilling _something_ that can only belong to Ia.

There is shock, and a lot of it, when Miku vaguely recollects Ia whacking the wineglass from unsuspecting hands, sending it flying onto the floor, staining it with red. For a moment, he looks as if he'll hit her, here in public, without so much as a sliver of remorse.

But he stays calm. "Excuse me," he says, and takes Miku—Ia?—by the wrist, guiding her—them?—promptly from the ballroom and out into the corridor. He raises his palm to strike, but Ia is so determined that he merely scowls and drops it to his side once more, demanding, "What was that all about, hm?"

"You're being very unfaithful to me," Ia says in a voice that isn't the one Miku hears in her head _but Miku's voice in and of itself._ Ia is _her_. They've traded places. "I don't appreciate it, you gritty, dirty _liar_."

His cobalt eyes go alight, his jaw tensing. "Why, you—"

"Kaito?" The woman from before pokes her head out from the ballroom doors. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, just fine," he says in return, words tight in his compressed throat.

"Mm, yes," Ia agrees, coiling an arm around his bicep, "just planning on heading home, is all. I don't feel too well."

The woman gives an, " _Ah_ ," of understanding. "Shall I tell the board you're leaving, then?" she asks.

Ia uses Miku's lips to dazzle her audience with a marvelous grin, initially the reason Kaito mutters, "Yes, please do. Let Gakupo know I won't be attending the press meeting tomorrow, either."

"Can do," the woman says. Her warm eyes fall upon the girl clinging to Kaito's side. "Feel better."

"Mm," Ia says noncommittally.

When the woman departs and the corridor has gone silent again, Miku can only see the flame in her lover's disgusted eyes. " _Stop it,_ " she says. " _Ia, stop, you're making this worse._ "

There's no response, for Ia is too distracted in staring at him fearlessly, loyal to Miku's validity.

"You don't own me," she says.

It's the final straw for Kaito. He grips her roughly by the arm, and they're out of the building before Miku can count to ten.

 _The replay, my vision flutters to space  
_ _Bearing just this crime, you wander around the darkness  
_ " _God, who will you judge?"  
_ " _It's my fault"_

.

" _Stop, stop, stop...I feel like I'm going to throw up"  
_ " _When will you stop being a doll?"  
_ " _It's already decided; it's tomorrow"  
_ " _Anyway, we can't do anything"_

Ia, upon returning home, takes the well-deserved beating for Miku.

And Miku watches in that out-of-body kind of way, the one that keeps her trapped inside her own mind yet far away from it all the same. She's screaming, begging for Ia to stop fighting against it and let it happen. Whether the tears that spill from her eyes are her own or Ia's or perhaps even both of theirs, Miku will never be sure.

" _Stop, please, please, just stop,_ " she pleas, scratching at the lockbox that keeps her captive.

"When will you ever stop being a doll, girl? When will you ever break loose of the chains that bind you?" The words are weak, distorted, but the voice is still Miku's. Ia is still manipulating it. "I'm protecting you."

"The hell are you going on about, bitch?" Something topples over. Miku flinches away from the sound, confused, questioning to Ia over and over again, " _Are you alright? Are you alright?_ "

There is no response. Instead, once more, there's an all-consuming blackness that has Miku swimming in liquid gold, drowning in it. She loses track of time, of her whereabouts, of every minuscule detail about everything that makes her into the person that she is. She loses track of Ia and Kaito, too, until nothing is left. She's alone.

And then, she isn't.

She's blinking back that awful haze of smog that's too similar to tar having been painted over her eyelids, sprawled on the ground of she and her lover's shared bedroom. Coated upon her hands is something thick and sticky.

Her heartbeat burns in her chest. When she swallows, her saliva is pure acid. She hears Ia prodding at her in a quiet voice, saying, " _It was for the best, you know._ "

It wasn't.

Seeing his corpse like that, laying in scattered shards of glass with blood leaking from a massive indent in the left side of his skull, does horrible things to Miku's mind. She thinks she screams. She thinks she does a lot of things, really, but the only cognitive function she can really comprehend is that she's scrambling back toward the wall, mortified that there is _relief_ exploding throughout her.

Because he's gone, he's actually _gone_. After two years and so much of it spent thinking _he loves me, he loves me not_ , he's just gone. All of that tolerance in hopes for a better ending has been thrown right out the window.

" _You're happy."_

"On what _grounds_?" Miku cries, clutching at her hair in agony. She smears a heaping amount of blood into it in the process.

" _On the grounds that you're free_ ," Ia replies coolly. In half a second, she's in front of Miku, an ethereal being that dries the air around her into her sizzling static. She crouches, extends a hand toward Miku, and lets out a soft laugh when Miku shrieks and draws back. " _Don't shy away, girl. You're free now, which means you can love whoever else you want._ " A grating pause. " _You can love me._ "

This time when Ia reaches for Miku's hand, Miku doesn't pull away. She allows for their fingers to tangle together, Ia's fading in and out of translucency to remind Miku that she could very well be clinically insane.

" _You can love me all you want, Miku, isn't that a wonderful thing?_ "

"Yes," Miku whispers, studying the woman—the superior version of herself—with judgmental eyes that soften when Ia grazes her lips against her forehead. "I suppose it is."

" _It's breaking, it's breaking, it's breaking."  
_ " _But finally even hatred—"  
_ " _...Hey, it changes into love?"  
_ " _I...love...you—" "—I...love...you."_

.

 _Tell me "Who am I?"  
_ _Tell me "Who are you?"  
_ _Truth and lies kiss  
_ _And everything is born_

"They'll realize soon enough that he's gone," Miku murmurs that night, curled in the corner of the bedroom with a filthy odor fanning out around her. "And who better to blame but me?"

" _Except it wasn't you. It was me._ "

"You said it yourself," Miku says, forcing an exhausted, broken laugh, "you're as much me as I am you. We're in this together."

" _Would you have preferred to keep living with him taking advantage of the endless love you offered him merely so he could fulfill his own sadistic urges?_ "

Silence.

" _I thought as much._ "

"They'll realize he's gone," Miku repeats. She turns her gaze toward the ceiling, trembling. Fingers trace nondescript patterns onto her arms. If the fingers are her own, she can't feel them. "What then? What can we possibly do then?"

" _Run away, just you and I. Or..."_

"Or?" Miku urges when Ia does not continue.

" _Or,_ " she whispers, " _we could kill ourselves._ "

Miku's eyes blow wide. The words settle, slowly but surely, and she feels that the obligation to commit such a sin is a reality she wouldn't mind paying a visit to. "Wh-...What?"

" _A lover's suicide. There's really no more romantic way to go, is there? You're free of him, and if you free yourself of_ this _, then it will just be us. Forever. Doesn't that sound wonderful?_ "

"No! _No_ , no, of _course_ it doesn't!"

The ghostly touch of fingers on her arm transfers to her face, thumb stroking her lips softly. Thoughtfully. " _If we do, won't it be nice to forget?_ "

"Forget?!"

" _Forget all the time you spent with him, the time that birthed_ me _. Forget all the mistakes and flaws that I can so easily forgive._ "

"I don't—"

" _You do. Trust me, girl, you do. You've thought about it plenty of times, covered in your own blood on your own mattress in your own damned home. You've considered it over and over again._ "

Miku can't fathom an answer for this. She instead thumps her head back against the wall and releases an unearthly sob.

" _Won't it be nice, to have it all over soon? Won't it be nice?_ "

"It...I don't—"

" _You do. You do._ "

"I do," Miku whispers. "I do."

She isn't certain if this is the truth or a disgustingly see-through lie. She isn't sure at all, but at that moment, it's the closest thing to the truth as she can get.

A simplistic escape for what Ia has done—what Miku has wished for, once or twice upon a time. That's all this is.

That's all it will ever be.

" _I won't ask you about that"  
_ " _Oh, you won't ask me"  
_ " _Quick, quick, quick, quick—  
_ " _Quick...I want you to kill me"_

.

" _I didn't know that a peak like that..."  
_ " _So hot, so deep, so strong"  
_ " _Really, I love you too much—  
_ _I want to break you, now"_

The deal is sealed with a passionate kiss from imaginary lips.

"Are you sure this is what needs to happen? This is the only choice we have?" Miku whispers.

" _Not the only choice, but the best of them._ "

Miku believes this, wholeheartedly. Ia knows what she's talking about. She knows that this is their only resolute option.

She knows just as well as Miku does that this is very well what needs to happen, because she is as much Miku as Miku is _her_. They are one and the same. They are two personas of the same mind.

And they know exactly what the other is thinking, what they're feeling.

" _Are you ready?_ "

Hesitance. A reluctant answer.

"I am," Miku says.

She vaguely feels a hand holding her own, the one not clutching a sharpened blade. Warmth spreads through through her body, dissolving in her lungs, dispersing her breath in waves.

She presses the tip of the knife to her exposed throat. Her vision is blurred by confused tears.

" _I'll take the pain away_ ," Ia says.

When Miku nods and closes her eyes, she understands full and well that Ia is lying.

Without a second thought about it, she pushes the blade through her throat. There's a startled gasp, a strangled choking sound, and a voice, an urgent, congratulatory voice. " _You did, oh, you finally did it. Petty girl. You did it._ "

Miku feels her hands go against her will and shove the blade deeper into her pierced jugular. The vein pops. She gurgles a wad of blood that overflows from the sides of lips parted to scream.

" _You really did it. Thank you, love._ "

The words are disembodied in her mind, a jumbled, incoherent mess of syllables. Ia is babbling in her voice for as long as she can manage, but there's no point to it.

Miku dies with nothing more than words of love on her tongue.

" _Break, break, break. Break until there's not even dust left—"  
_ " _I can't take this anymore"  
_ " _Except for you"  
_ " _I don't love anybody else"_

.

" _I love you."_

The investigators find Hatsune Miku and Shion Kaito broken and bloody in their small, quaint home on a cool Saturday afternoon.

They lay in a bed of roses upon the floor, their pinkies twined tightly.

"Miraculous," says one of the officers.

The other smiles sadly. "A lover's suicide. How tragically romantic."

If only they knew.

If only they truly, really knew.

" _I love you."_

* * *

 **This is kinda trashy bc I'm tired and lazy. But! To the two that requested Jekyll &Hyde, here you are. I didn't include the Streaming Heart element all that much, but...Aha, maybe it's still partially there regardless. The concepts are similar. c': Hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading! I apologize if I didn't quite capture MPD/the original song very well.**

 **Next up:** Piko/Gumi.


	8. put it together (gumi & piko)

**Prompt:** They found his diary under his bed.

 **Pairing:** Piko/Gumi, Miku.

 **Requested by:** Ano.

* * *

The thing about Miku is that she has little to no tolerance for messiness. Everything must always be kept in order, tidy, which makes for Gumi going over there a bit painful at times. Whenever she drops something, spills a drink, knocks a book from its shelf (all of which is done way too frequently), Miku is on her case, yipping and flinging herself to the nearest possible means of cleaning.

And the situation is only made worse when Miku's father remarries to a woman whose son is anything but cleanly.

Gumi sees him a lot now, considering Miku is her best friend and she spends almost half of her time at her house, doubled in population by the addition to her family; his name is Piko, simple enough, and despite being unkempt as all hell (relatable), he's, uh—actually pretty cool.

Miku doesn't think so, as expected of her. She's invading his room at least once a week to drop a Febreze bomb in there or make his bed or organize is closet, and Piko is surprisingly nonchalant about it. He only dirties it up again by the end of the week, anyway.

"Maybe you should give up on trying to tame that pigstye," Gumi suggests one afternoon during one of Miku's long rants about her step-brother. Her friend eyes her as if she's lost her mind, and Gumi lifts her shoulders awkwardly, sipping on her lemonade. "I'm just saying," she says, "you're not making any progress, so give up."

"I," Miku huffs, "am a _firm_ believer of never giving up." She leans over the table they occupy to jab at Gumi's forehead, smirking. "We're going to clean the hell out of that mess, alright?"

Gumi blinks. "We?" she echoes, quirking a brow.

"Yes, _we_ ," Miku says. She's wearing that smile of hers that's caught somewhere in between _someone's going to get their ass kicked_ and _that person is going to be me_. Gumi isn't sure how to feel about this...but then again, it means going into Piko's room, and that's...Well, that's something.

It's reason enough to _agree_ , which she kind of regrets immediately, but Miku's lure is immense and Gumi just can't for the life of her reject. She wouldn't be able to even if she _wasn't_ oddly curious about Piko and the junk in his room. Things are complicated, strange, and now she's going to get herself into a predicament and Miku is not going to attempt to bail her out. She never does.

So in the end, when Piko stays after for school one day, Miku grabs Gumi and drags her back to her house. Gumi says hi to Miku's dad on the way in, but he's a bit too consumed in work to notice. Gumi doesn't take it personally, instead following Miku up the stairs to Piko's bedroom with unnecessarily strong interest budding in her stomach.

They nudge the door open and poke inside. Upon seeing it's clear, Miku slips further in, beckoning Gumi in after her and shutting the door behind them. "Alright," Miku says firmly as she stalks toward the bed, "you take the left side, I'll take the right."

"Aye aye, cap'n," Gumi mumbles. She drifts toward the closet, yanking it open and surveying the clothes stuffed into its constrains. Piko has a pretty limited sense of style that Gumi can't help but find amusing: grey turtlenecks, black skinny jeans, white Converse, a whole mass of baggy, dark blue sweatshirts strewn more across the floor of the closet than upon the hangers.

Gumi hefts a pile into her arms and starts properly hanging them, wiping dust from off the barren shelf at the top, neatly arranging the shoes and scooping out crumpled papers and snack wrappers...though she doesn't _dare_ touch any tissues she finds. There's no telling of what Piko spews into those things.

What? It's a _legitimate concern_.

" _Why_ ," Miku mumbles from across the room, scrunching her nose up. "It's like every time we get rid of stuff ten times as much appears again!"

Gumi scoffs and drops to her knees, fishing out coverless books from under Piko's cluttered desk. She organizes them in his bookshelf before returning to the desk to straighten out his pens and masses of papers. His handwriting is surprisingly neat, she realizes, looping and curling with the tails of the y's stretching out beneath the entirety of the word it belongs to.

With a bit more searching, she finds newspaper clippings that Miku plucks from her fingers and tosses into the trashcan, disassembled projects from weeks ago, anime posters that actually cause the both of them to break out into hysteric laughter, and—

"Oh my God. _Oh my God_ , Gumi, get over here, _come here_."

In the midst of sorting out video game discs by the television, Gumi stops to glance behind her at Miku, crouched at the foot of the bed, and approaches her briskly to squat at her side.

"What is it?" Gumi asks, peering over Miku's shoulder. Her friend snorts out a massive giggle and collapses onto her rear, flinging the book in her hands at Gumi and flopping onto her back, giggles turning wild. Flustered, Gumi looks at the book in her hands, lips quivering into a smirk when she sees the title. "Oh my God," she whispers. "This is his _diary_."

" _I know_!" Miku cries, throwing her arm over her frighteningly red face. "He keeps it under his bed, Gumi, _under his bed_."

"We should read it," Gumi says. It's a really wrong thing to do but honestly will lead to be the highlight of her entire life, probably. She can't just turn down this opportunity, and Miku won't be able to either.

Breathless, she sits up, smile creased permanently into her face as she flicks the edge of the diary's crisp white papers. "Should we?" she asks, teal eyes blown wide and eager.

"Definitely." And with that, Gumi peels the diary open.

The first page is a sketch. A damn _good_ sketch of a wilted old tree, at that. An owl is perched on one of many mangled branches, leaves fluttering toward a grass-barren landscape. It's depressing, kind of it. Makes Gumi's heart pang.

"Boring," Miku says, reaching into Gumi's lap to turn the page. "Next!"

The next page consists of text, consists of the same looping, curling print that Gumi saw earlier. There is a date at the top reading: _2/19/16_ , all the way back at the beginning of the year. Beneath it, it reads: _Mom says writing is supposed to, like, help me cope with Dad's death so here I am. It's a good idea, I guess, but getting words onto the page is a little tough sometimes. Half the time I don't even know what I'm feeling, so. This is bound to be interesting._

Accompanying the passage is his signature, and a doodle of a set of tired, listless eyes. Miku's smile has started to fall. "This is kind of sad," she murmurs. In agreement, Gumi nods and skips a couple pages.

 _4/23/16_ , this one reads, _Mom got back together with this guy she dated before she and Dad were a thing. I've met him a few times previous since they were still friends, but, like, he has this daughter who's a bit older than me and she's...something. She's loud and gossip-y and musical and Mom already adores her. It makes me feel neglected? Which is weird._

 _I mean, I get I play video games a lot and am a bit antisocial, but I can still do things, you know? I'm smarter than Miku will ever be and literally got into one of the highest engineering programs in the state for this summer, but, oh, it's not much in comparison to a girl that can play the piano or whatever._

 _I guess I'm just being salty. I've never had siblings before, and I've always been coddled by Mom and Dad. Now things are changing and it all feels really weird. The only_ _ **good**_ _thing about Miku is that she has a really cute friend that's usually over, even when Mom and I go there for dinner. She's like an extra addition to their family or something, and she's kind of cool. She plays video games, I think._

 _I don't know. It's been a long day._

 _Respectively, Piko._

"I'm—" Gumi falters, her neck undeniably hot. "You don't think he's talking about _me_ , do you?" she asks, staring at Miku in bewilderment.

Her friend rolls her eyes and playfully smacks Gumi's shoulder. "Who else would he be talking about, Gumi? I don't really have any other friends like family other than you." She frowns, tapping a slender, manicured finger onto her name in the passage. "I feel kind of bad now, geez. I'll admit, yeah, his mom _does_ like me, but it's not like I'm trying to steal her away or anything."

"Next?" Gumi prompts.

"Next," Miku confirms.

Gumi flips halfway through, and passes the diary off to Miku so she can read it. The guilt of this entire situation is no doubt starting to seep into them both, but at this rate, there's no stopping it.

 _8/28/16,_ says this one, _Fortunately, kicking off my second year at high school at a new school altogether wasn't all that hard. I kind of feared that Miku would be a jerk to me, for whatever reason, since this place is her domain(?), but overall, it was fine. She actually let me...sit at her table. With her friend, Gumi, who, yes, also goes to this school._

 _This might as well be the only really 100% plus, other than Len, Gumi's friend who I think is gay and touches my butt a lot, even if I'm also sure he and Yuuma are dating? I don't know, the entire structure of this place is way different than how anything was at my old school._

 _I guess I don't really mind it though. Mom's pretty supportive and switched me out of a few classes with bad teachers that her boyfriend said nearly screwed Miku's grades over terminally. I switched into AP Physics, thank God, and Gumi's in that class. I didn't think she was a tech nerd, but apparently she is? I'm...kind of excited?_

 _I've never really had crushes on girls. Well, on anyone. I wish I wasn't writing this in pen, Jesus. Anyway, so, this is weird. But a good weird. If I wasn't so awkward, though, maybe it wouldn't be any kind of weird at all._

 _Respectively, Piko._

Miku has begun to grin like a dork again, and Gumi has resorted to covering her face with her hands. He has it so bad for her, _so bad_ , and the most embarrassing part of it all is that she might actually like him back. Which means Miku is going to use her hardcore as a further excuse to clean his room.

"He _likes_ you," Miku says, elbowing Gumi. "He _really_ likes you!"

"No shit," Gumi relents. She watches carefully as Miku turns the page. And then her breath catches in her lungs and she almost actually drops dead.

There, spread out on two pieces of paper in the diary, is a sketch of herself. Of _Gumi,_ drawn and signed by Piko, inked, colored, a bit smudged here and there but so utterly accurate that it robs her of the ability to speak, to think.

"To present," Gumi says, shaking her head in disbelief. "Most recent passage, Miku, skip to that."

Obliging, Miku opens the diary toward the end, thumbing to find the right section. When she does, Gumi snatches the booklet from her grip and reads, eager but terrified all the same.

 _12/9/16. Mom and her boyfriend got married which is absolutely insane to me. Mainly because it means we'll be moving in with them. I'll be living with Miku and her dad. With my Mom. And all of that seems bizarre._

 _But I'm...kind of happy? I've missed having a family. Like, a whole family. And even if Miku is immensely annoying, I think she's alright. She's a typical older sister and I'm fine with that. I'm fine with her being a part of my life, and I'm fine with her dad being a part of my life because he makes Mom happy, and that's...good enough for me._

 _After a long time of feeling self conscious and stupid, I actually have managed to find a good portion of contentedness within myself. I think things will get better now. So long as Miku stays out of my fucking room and stops trying to clean it._

 _There's a chance she'll actually find this and if she does, I'll be mortified because she will tell Gumi so quickly that I like her, and I will retaliate with...something. Maybe this is just a really bad warning to her in case she does find this. Like, if she's reading this right now, whether it be tomorrow or in ten years._

 _Whatever. I feel good. Things are starting to come around and it's nice. It's nice to feel good._

 _Respectively, Piko._

"How did—" Miku, at a loss for words, flings her hands into the air. "How did he manage to break the fourth wall like that, what the hell!"

"He's so angsty," Gumi whispers, "and so cute."

"He knew we'd read it!"

"He knew _you'd_ read it, not me! I'm not going to take part in this!"

Miku squeaks out a protest when Gumi tosses the diary back at her and starts scrambling to her feet. "No way!" she cries, lacing her arms around Gumi's ankles. "We're all in this together!"

"Nope, _no_ , got to go—"

" _Gumi_!"

"I'm not gonna stand here and dig my own grave, Miku!"

"You most certainly _are_ if _I_ have to—"

"What are you two doing?"

In an instant, Gumi and Miku are tumbling back to the floor, sheepish, gazing up at the familiar and horribly bemused figure standing in the doorway.

" _Piko_ ," Miku chides, forcing a smile. She glances at the diary thrown open at her side and chokes out a miserable sound before kicking it halfway across the room. She peers at Piko again and shakes her head. "This isn't what it looks like."

"She's lying," Gumi says as she kicks Miku's hand off her ankle, "it's exactly what it looks like. We were reading your diary—"

" _Idiot_!"

"What? I'm doing the honorable, right thing!"

"You're going to get me _slaughtered_ is what you're doing—"

Piko loudly clears his throat, catching the girls' attentions. "This would be a lot better if you got out of my room," he says. "Like, right now."

"Yeah, uh—of _course_ , can do!" Miku laughs nervously, bobs to her heels, and slips out of the room before Gumi even has a chance to catch up; she's left awkwardly stanced by Piko's bed, not bothering with smiles and niceities when she feels like she's going to throw up.

"You're not... _mad_ , are you?" she asks as Piko walks casually past her to scoop his diary into his arms again. His face is very, very red.

He coughs, saying, "Why would I be?"

"Because we invaded your personal affairs and also your _room_."

Piko rights himself and makes eye contact with Gumi, letting the balance shift between them. Gumi flushes, taking a step away so that the backs of her knees touch the mattress behind her. "You— _did_ do that," Piko says, tentative, "but, like—I live with Miku. I'm used to it, and—how much did you read—"

"The robotics tournament is coming up soon and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to get coffee some time next week to discuss plans with me so that we can even _more so_ maybe go to states?"

The diary topples to the ground, falling from Piko's grip like butter. He doesn't acknowledge it, just stares at Gumi, blinks, and says, "Huh?"

"Uh, unless—I misread your, er, diary and clear indications you _like_ me or something 'cause, I mean, I like you too? Please don't make embarrass myself here, Piko, I literally _just_ read your diary," Gumi stammers. She isn't looking too shapely in the face department anymore, here; compare her to a tomato and she guarantees she'd be redder.

Sweeping to grab the diary again, Piko consults a deep breath. Then, he rises, beams, and says, "Coffee and robotics sounds great. How does Tuesday next week sound?"

"You're—you're serious?"

Piko purses his lips. "Aren't you?" he asks.

" _Yes_ , I am, I just—holy crap, that wasn't as easy as I expected it to be. I'm socially awkward unless it comes to your moron of a step-sister."

"I _heard_ that!" Miku shrieks from downstairs.

Gumi shakes her head. "Tuesday it is," she says, and a smile eases its way to her expression, relieving her when Piko reciprocates. "We can walk to the cafe after school together and, you know, establish chemistry." She winks, just trying to be cheeky, and thinks a moment later that she's accidentally forced Piko to blow a fuse.

She swallows, gives his shoulder a squeeze, and pivots to walk backwards toward the door, waving. "See you then?" she says.

"Def—definitely," Piko says, and his smile is something Gumi might cherish until the day she dies, and—she's too cheesy for this. Way too cheesy.

"So," Miku asks wryly when Gumi comes practically skipping down the stairs and into the lounge, "how did _that_ go? Should I be glad I wasn't there to witness it?"

Gumi's only response is that they should by all means read people's diaries more often.

* * *

 **/kicks out leg/ I'm,, back? Yes, hello, I haven't posted to this in forever and I thought it was about time to lol. I've been dragging myself through a pretty rough time mentally and school is kicking my butt. But I got into the Engineering program at my school which I'm incredibly happy about, so my hard work has been paying off! All I need is a cute gf like Piko now. Huh.**

 **Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this! I secretly really love this pair, and Miku the stubborn (not really) wing-man. I missed these rarepairs, and I have a lot more on the way now that my muse is (hopefully) back.**

 **Next up:** Piko/Miki.


	9. kill your heroes (miki & piko)

**Prompt:** You were sent by the organization to capture him, bring him and then kill him the second they deemed him useless. And anyone who got in your way were- as strictly instructed- to be killed. But however, you failed, and succumbed to the temptation to rebel against them. And now, you join him along with this small group he's in that's against the organization. For once in your life- you feel a strange happiness slowly enveloping you.

 **Pairing:** Piko/Miki.

 **Requested by:** Melodicholy.

* * *

You had always been a woman of your word.

When your boss told you to do something, you did it, acted out on her commands without a slight of hesitation. You fulfilled yet another assassination, another murder, another kidnapping, and she thanked you, guised by false pleasantries. You never quite trusted her; those piercing blue eyes, that silky blonde hair swinging at her waist—it was all too alluring. She put too much faith into you, always, deliberate and achingly sweet.

So you obeyed, without fault, unaware of how harshly Lily's orders were dragging you down. Nights were spent awake, anxious, recalling the faces of those you had let down, those that had pleaded for their lives, that you ignored to satisfy your organization.

But then the tables turned when she assigned that mission. To kidnap one of the lead hackers rooting against them, usurping private information to benefit the society. You thought it would be the same as all the others, dragging him into the depths of this morbid society, observing him until he faltered, messed up; then the blade would pierce his throat, and it wouldn't matter anymore.

You were growing sick of this cycle, but you were a woman of your word, Lily was your boss, and you could by no means disobey her unless it was your own throat you wanted slit. You carried on with perfect strides, sturdy in your work.

When you met him, everything changed. You eased your way into his small organization so fittingly, like you belonged there, slotted yourself in between the lines. He welcomed you, the colors of his eyes glittering with determination and enthusiasm for a new member, and you saw how hopeful he was, how this was his shot at getting back at the organization that had robbed him of everything.

The organization that had claimed you years ago.

"Piko's the name," was how he introduced himself that first time, looking giddy yet exhausted, bags painted above his cheekbones, slanted pale in the artificial lighting of the room. And you saw it then, the haste he bore, uncertainty and tenacity that would always be directed at you, for he had to know. He had to have a clue as to who you were.

"Miki," you said, because saying _Sf-a2_ didn't feel right. It was the name branded into your back, the name Lily had given you for protection, but you didn't want him to know you as a series of letters and digits. You wanted to be you. You wanted to be the person that you were before all of this happened. You wanted to restart.

And yet he figured you out so quickly. When you pointed that gun at the nape of his neck in the seclusion of his office, sweat staining your brow, your blood running cold, you _knew_ that he had been lying through his teeth since the beginning.

"I'm not dumb, you know," he said, raising his palms in a mock surrender. Your fingers clenched around the trigger of the gun, bullet clicking into the barrel, but when push came to shove, you would not be able to pull any further; you would not be able to hurt him for so many reasons.

"I never said that you were," you murmured. Your voice was raspy and pulsing with emotion, your adrenaline spiking through the roof. He refused to so much as glance at you.

"It was implied by the fact you thought I didn't know who you were." He hesitated, and through the reflection of the glass pane of the window stretched out before him, you saw the smirk slip over thin, wary lips. "You didn't really think you could run from it, did you?" he asked, bemused. "Sf-a2."

You jolted, nearly fumbling the gun to the ground as you processed what he had said. It should not have come as a surprise, but it did. He had known, he had _known_ , and yet he had still accepted you, still smiled at you, explained everything to you. He had trusted you, and you could not throw his trust away.

For the first time, you wavered. Obeying Lily was such a vague, distant thing to you.

Piko turned now to face you, undeterred. "The aim of your mission was to kidnap me. I'm well aware of that, but I had my suspicions that I could change your mind. Were they correct?"

They were, but admitting that would mean defeat. You could not verbally accept defeat, not like this, so you instead lowered the gun to your side, trembling, watching him with an even, level gaze. He returned it with vigor, smiling. It was an answer to him. It was an answer to you, too.

"Instead of opposing us, gathering information from us," he said, slowly closing the distance between the two of you, "why don't you join us, Sf-a2?" He hummed, melodic and smooth, brushing a loose strand of amber hair from your contorted face. His touch was gentle, tender.

"That's what you want?" you queried, because that seemed so impossible. Why would he want a criminal, an assassin, a murderer on his team of genius, intelligent hackers? Why would he want _you_ , of all people? Why didn't he rip that gun from your hands and fire it into your temple?

Why didn't he end it there?

"It's what I want," Piko said. His palm cupped your cheek, vulnerability crashing wryly unto you, drowning out your breath. "Don't you want it, too?"

You did. More than anything else, you _did_. The organization that Lily ran had devoured you, stripped you of happiness, of freedom. You had gone against your friends, your family, for no more than the fact that Lily had told you to do so, and now, here, standing before the man that despised her, you felt so ashamed of that. But she had promised you so _much_ when you were so _young_ , so helpless and lost and pleading. All you wanted was a home. A life to mold to your own desires.

This was the place to make it. This was the time to shape your life into your own creations, this was the time to live, this— _this_ was the time to evolve. You were no longer Sf-a2, and never again would you be. You were Miki. And you were indestructible.

"I'll join you," you said, averting your attention to the other side of his office. "But under the condition that _I_ get to be the one to take Lily out."

"Perfect," Piko said, "I wouldn't have it any other way. Together, there is nothing we can't do; absolutely nothing." He curled a finger against your temple, for a moment sinister in the bleak lighting of the room, highlighting his hair ashen in an ethereal glow. "I have faith in you."

You stared him down, shoulders rolled back to accentuate your narrowed posture. "Thank you," was all you could manage to say, and it elicited a delicate, chiding laugh from him. He dismissed you from the room, claiming to have other business to attend to in the meantime, and so you, too, dawdled in other tasks. You sent Lily an e-mail, to lead her on, to tell her things were going swimmingly and you'd have Piko in the organization's clutches in no time. Then you wandered out into the kitchen, found a blade glinting on the edge of the table, and positioned it against your hair.

In one swift motion, you sliced it off, and let sleek peach strands pile at your feet. To the reflection you raised an eager smile, and with that, you fled to your room to sleep.

The following morning, Piko greeted you at your bedside table, reading a book and admiring your hair from the corner of his peripheral. His smirk was incredibly foul, in a way you found astounding, so as it nearly erased from your mind the fact he'd been undoubtedly watching you in your sleep. You sat up, eyeing him, and said, "Staring is rude, y'know."

"Apologies," Piko mused, closing the book in his hands and setting it neatly against the nightstand, "but I came in here to drag you to the meeting hall for a discussion with the others, but you looked far too peaceful to rouse from sleep." A pause. If possible, his smirk widened: "I like what you did with the locks, lady."

You touched a hand to the curling tresses swinging at your neck, thick and heavy and itching irritably at your face. "I'm starting over," you said quietly.

Piko smiled, endearing rather than sadistic. "It's suiting for a Miki."

"It looks like yours now. Have you ever even _cut_ yours?"

"Nope," Piko hummed, "and I don't really plan to anytime soon. Now—" He rose, offering you a hand that you took gratefully, "off we go."

The meeting hall was not as crowded as you had expected it to be: only Len, Ia and Gumi were gathered there, ducking down to focus on pamphlets and papers spread awry in front of them. Gumi thumbed through one in particular, scoffing. She only glanced up when you and Piko approached. The distaste on her features didn't for a second flee.

"Piko," she said slowly, and narrowed her emerald eyes particularly upon you. Her jaw tensed. You braced against her by straightening your posture, arching until your height advantage over both her and her boss grew evident. She rolled her eyes and resumed her reading. "What's the meaning of this discussion you wanted to have?"

"Good question." Piko pulled a chair out and gestured for you to sit; you took your place, relaxing against the wooden bracket, watching with a calm gaze as he positioned himself next to you, staring Gumi down. "Miki will be officially joining our group," he said.

But it was not Gumi who looked startled by this. More so, it was Len, who choked on his own saliva and fervently turned away to clear himself out at the news. When he recovered, gaping at Piko with steel in his cobalt eyes, he could barely manage to say, " _What_?"

"She disputes against Lily's ideas, as we, similarly, do. Her skills and information are, not to mention, capable enough to plot against her. She's amazingly adept." He reached over to piece a hand through your hair. "Wouldn't you say?"

"You're a filthy, filthy man," Gumi snorted, slapping her pencil roughly onto the table's surface.

Len, as politely as he could, seconded the sentiment.

"You're overreacting," Ia said. Soft as it was, it lulled the entirety of a table to a hush. "She really is talented. We should give her credit for what it is she can _do_ , not what she's done or— who she's been, even." She turned to you and nodded. "Miki, you have our full trust and devotion."

The praise was foreign to you, but not unwelcome. In fact, you accepted it with open arms; you had never felt so needed among a place such as this.

"I'll do my best," you said. "I don't expect you to trust me right away. Really, I don't. But I do hope you can at least accept the information I have to give you and the traits I can offer in your mission to bring Lily and her— _my_ , if you will —organization to the ground. In the regards you wish from me, I'm a useful asset. I am."

Len inhaled a deep, shuddering breath and said, "You better be," before tossing his attention once more to his papers. Gumi and Ia followed suit, and with that, your words blossomed life anew to the stagnant hostility you thought they would show you.

Over the course of three weeks, they taught you things you didn't know you would ever learn.

Ia introduced you to wiring and machining and altering communications and technologies that you had once so easily taken for granted.

Gumi showed you how to code and decode, shriveling passwords and barriers to dust, transceiving information into chips that could later be accessed to your will.

Len demonstrated to you how to think like the enemy— any enemy —and how to equip yourself with the attitude you would need to best them.

And Piko— Piko showed you kindness. Affection. He tangled your hands together, stared at you with such meaningful hope and adoration that you knew, more than anything else, you could not disappoint him. Sometimes, when he held your hand, you would squeeze his fingers. Kiss his knuckle, only if he was stressed.

Your relationship with him was different from how it was with Ia, with Gumi, with Len; it was different with him than it had ever been with Lily. Even with your family. The family you told him about, late at night after a nightmare when he sat at the edge of your bed to reassure you back to sleep.

"I lost my family, too," Piko said, "a long time ago. My mother once led this operation. She kept this life separate from the life she had with my father. But when she had me, it got exposed. It leaked through the cracks of their love, and she killed him. Then she herself abandoned me, and disappeared into God only knows where."

"I—" You swallowed, sitting up to rest your palm over his cheek. "I wouldn't leave you like that."

"Sure you wouldn't," Piko said, and perhaps the saddest smile you had ever seen crept across his countenance. That evening, and many following, you invited him to sleep in your bed, against your pillows in your sheets, so that he would not have to suffer through his nightmares alone as well.

And so things carried on.

You grew happy. Len, Gumi and Ia became accustomed to you, as you did to them, and you shared in your laughter, your hurt. They felt like your siblings. Your family. You bickered and argued but at night, when tensions settled, it was simply joy that ran through your blood.

The time came to destroy Lily, and you were ready. All of you were _so_ ready to take vengeance on the world that had been taken from you by that sickly, dastardly woman.

"Are you certain you can go through with this?" Piko asked the night before the day of what could supposedly be called attack. You turned to him, dazed, and cushioned your head against his chest.

"You're choosing to question my loyalties _now_? Bad timing," you laughed, and he playfully flicked your forehead. Then his hand slid to your back, tracing the brand of your old name that would forever be plastered there.

Piko sighed and said, "I just want to make sure it doesn't bother you. They— were once your family, Miki. Weren't they?"

"Never. Not like this. Never like this."

"And you're— happy here?"

"More happy than I've ever been my entire life," you said, smiling lucidly in the darkness.

"Good," Piko said, his voice quiet and almost pleading, "because as much as I don't want you to leave is as much as I want you to be happy where you _belong._ "

You smiled. "I belong here," you said.

If that wasn't the truth, then nothing was.

* * *

 **Two updates in so few days and they're both Piko-related oho. Hope you enjoyed! I didn't really go into too much detail with this because this is,, not a very fond ship of mine for one thing but also because I wanted to leave it somewhat vague enough for interpretation (before and after Miki leaves Lily). Hopefully updates will be more consistent now that I've got my muse back!**

 **Thank you for all of the requests, btw. It's really helping me with my writing!**

 **Next up:** Kaito/Len/Rin.


	10. i need an answer (len, kaito, rin)

**Prompt:** Len does underage drinking (wine), becomes drunk as hell, calls Kaito and/or Rin but doesn't realize Kaito/Rin's mom is on the end of the phone, patiently listening as Len digs his own grave.

 **Pairing:** Kaito/Len, Len/Rin, Kaito/Len/Rin (set in the same verse as _as well as you know me_ ).

 **Requested by:** UntitledReader.

* * *

Before all of this, Miku had been totally willing to drink with Len up on the roof from the flask of booze they'd snuck from their mom's room. His sister had willingly gotten drunk with him, talked about the world with him, rambled about mindless, stupid things with him; and sometimes Luka would join them, monitoring their behavior and ensuring Len didn't fall off the roof (again).

Before all of this, they had been closer than Len thought possible, the three of them, but along the lines of high school, something had changed, and now things were different. Now, Len sat alone on the roof, the flask cool in his hands, the wind even cooler against his skin.

Alone, because Luka was sick, and because Miku had finally gotten the guts to ask Meiko out, and because at some point, when he hadn't been paying attention, he had begun to prefer solitude over company. Getting wasted wasn't as fun by himself, but he could admit it wouldn't be much fun crammed in between Miku and Meiko's making out and Luka sneezing on the back of his head every two minutes either.

So he enjoyed the bliss of being alone while he could, cradling his knees against his chest and flicking leaves absentmindedly off of the tiles scraping at his legs. A light rain had started, dusting the world around him in a layer of damp discomfort, staining the asphalt black. But either Len didn't notice or didn't care, as he stayed in place, stationary, the flask tight in his grip.

He'd finished the contents off a while ago, leaving him groggy and disoriented to the point he'd almost slipped off the roof twice amid muttering to himself. Without anything remaining to drink the ever-present loneliness away, he witnessed it returning, bubbling inside of him like some kind of manifesting disease distorting his mentality.

For a moment, as he leaned against the panels of the roof, shoulder blades writhing against jutting branches loose from a storm from days ago, he had the brilliant idea of calling Miku; he'd call her, tell her it was an emergency (which he had frequently), disrupt her date with Meiko, and drag her all the way home so that she could drink with him and tell him how stupid he was being over his feelings and his sexuality and— literally everything else, while she was at it.

But he considered himself to be a decent enough brother to _not_ do that, and considered instead calling Luka, not that that was much better since she was likely asleep or vomiting. In the end, Len dug out his phone anyway and stared at his contacts, blinking warily, not sure what he was trying to accomplish.

Phone raised above his face, squinting up at it with dollops of rain straining against his eyelashes, Len could hardly make out what it was he was reading as he read it. Most of what he could make out were emojis, and one name that had what kind of looked like six hearts before and after it, and—

"Oh," Len muttered, tapping it and dragging his phone closer to his line of vision. "Rin."

Rin, who he hadn't talked to in over a week after he'd gone and half-confessed to her in a minor fit of terror, then dodged every time she approached him in the hallway, probably to apologize for something she hadn't even done. She'd called him at least thirty times, texted him quadruple that, and yet he'd deleted all of her messages without even reading them.

He had his reasons for it, the biggest being he was embarrassed. The second being that the other half of the confession was supposed to Shion Kaito, not that he'd told Rin that part. Not that he'd even really told _himself_ that part.

It was an entire scheme of confusing, mentally-exhausting things, because _yes_ , okay, sure, Len liked Rin— who didn't? —and obviously he wanted to be with her, but— _but_ —on the other hand, there was Kaito, that charming idiot who he wanted to be with an equal amount; which all, eventually, tied together into the fact that he wanted to be with both of them. At the same time.

Leading to the fact he was miserably, horribly embarrassed by it. The thought of explaining it to Rin ( _and_ Kaito, if he was feeling risky) actually drove him past the brink of fear and into absolute raging anxiety, as if it physically hurt. There was no doubt in his mind they'd reject him (Rin's texts and calls had to be rejections, they _had_ to!), and he'd lose not only two of his best friends, but also a piece of himself because _God_ , why was he so good at messing things up?

If his self-deprecating mind couldn't deal with thoughts of being rejected, then how the hell would he deal with being rejected in reality? And what would he do after Rin and Kaito wriggled out of his life and hooked up just to spite him? He could see it now; Shion Rin, happily married, three kids, unfairly pretty with stupidly blue eyes.

It was about the moment Len envisioned that he pitched to the left and puked off the side of his house into the garden. The rain had picked up heavily. He was soaked, clothes sticking to his skin, hair loose from its ponytail and matted to his skull. He frowned, trying to remember how long he'd been out here, and came up empty-handed. Sitting up, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, stared at his phone, discarded by his thigh, and released a displeased grunt.

He picked his phone up, jammed it into his dripping wet jeans pocket, and crawled his way across the roof toward his open window; he clambered inside, collapsed on the floor, and didn't bother getting up until his skin broke out in hives and he was forced to change. It took him ten minutes to pick an outfit and another five to actually put it on.

Then, still heavily intoxicated, he flopped onto his bed, the flask tucked safely in the shoe box in his closet, feet stuffed beneath him, and removed his phone from its confines yet again. He hiccuped, dialed Rin's number ( _finally_ ), and rolled lazily onto his shoulder as he waited for her to answer.

It was a pity call, if nothing else. Pity for himself more than pity for her, because he felt stupid about confessing and felt stupid for feeling stupid, so naturally, something had to be done, whether he was drunk and depressed or not. He waited, tracing patterns onto his flannel sheets, fighting back a vehement migraine.

Rin picked up on the third ring, and Len immediately breathed out in a rush, "Oh my God, Rin. Holy shit, I'm sorry, for— for ignoring you and, uh. I'm a big moron, I know, I really screwed things up when I said that and all, though, didn't I? It was really dumb, I'm— embarrassed? I mean, we're friends and friends, like. Friends don't— well, at least, we don't— do we? Are were those kinda friends? Like, you know, uh— what d'you call 'em again?"

Len blinked, trying to catch up to his train of thought. It was going a hundred miles per minute, and he was stumbling to keep it reigned in. "Wh-whatever, that's— not what's important, it's, um. You know how I, like, said I— said I liked you, but— kinda liked another person too and, uh, it was— probably really weird, but I'm really weird, you've gotta be used to it at this rate." He gave a humorless laugh and flopped onto his back.

"This is— weird beyond, like, my usual weird? You're gonna be freaked out, and I really, _really_ don't want you to be— _please_ don't be, 'cause, like, whether— whether or not you reciprocate or not I— I don't really care, I just— I just want to talk about it with someone who isn't fucking Miku of all people, she's so lovey dovey all the time now it's like she forgot how to help me and I'm— uh, hang on, wait. Shit, what was I saying again?"

The line was quiet, and Len could imagine Rin sitting cross-legged in her room in her fluffy green pajama bottoms and a tank top, seething beyond all belief but being patient in that quiet, subtle way of hers, and somehow Len maintained a delicate smile as he draped his arm over his eyes and tried desperately to find the right words to continue.

"Look," he said, and his slurring became diligently evident afterward, "it s'like I can't just be with you, n' I can't just be with Kaito either, y'know? I— can't just pick one n' be like, 'Wow, this is great, I'll spend my life with them now,' or— or whatever the fuck, I dunno, it's— s'more like I want to be with both of you? Always? At the same time, and— like, see movies with you two n' hold hands with you in public and have it— like, be thought of as normal n' not— not have it be weird, which it _is_ , isn't it?" He sniffed, his face growing humiliatingly hot. "It's really fucking weird.

"It makes me think, like— am I just interested in polyamorous relationships? Can I _only_ do polyamorous relationships, am I that fucked up because of, like, Miku and Luka that I just always, _always_ need to be surrounded by two people? Like, the fuck, Len. What the fuck."

He inhaled sharply, dragging his palm across his face to soothe himself. He persisted against the sting of his eyes vigorously. "I don't have nearly half the friggin' guts to tell Kaito that I have to tell you, it's just— stupid, it feels so wrong n' conflicting. How the hell does Miku figure this shit out so quickly, how— how'd she jus'like wake up one day n' get all content with her sexuality? The fuck, Rin, why do I have to be so _different_ all the time?"

There was a long pause in which Len registered faint breathing from Rin's line as well as the dampness of his cheeks that he quickly scrubbed away, all vulnerability and weakness brushed neatly under the rug. It seemed Rin was formulating something to say, or wondering whether or not she should hang up. Len could see where both were coming from.

"Len," said a voice that was _definitely_ , by no means possible Rin's, "you're not different for feeling this. You're not weird. This sort of stuff is natural to feel, especially at your age."

Len jerked upright so quickly he might as well have given himself whiplash. He felt more sober than he had in a long time just hearing these words, eyes blown wide and senses registering to the realization of how _relieved_ he was that it hadn't been Rin who had heard him say this.

"Lily?" he blurted, and suddenly he wasn't too relieved at all, because what was Rin's mom doing with her cellphone, why would she answer it and why, _why_ , would she stand by to listen to Len's rambling nonsense (why would she _care_ )?

"Oh my God," he continued, scrambling off his bed and toward the doorway of his bedroom. He slumped uselessly against the threshold, heading pounding, his temples willing to explode from the sudden rush of nervous terror that had spiked hard in his chest, crawling up his throat, bursting in his nerves. This was a mistake; admitting this, saying this, _feeling_ this. A mistake, down to the every last drop. "Don't tell Rin," Len begged, glancing foolishly down the corridor as if at any moment Miku would come dashing up the stairs to comfort him.

He was so childish, stuck in his junior high self's body, trapped ad nauseam in the same cycle of thoughts, expectant for things to never change. For him and Miku and Luka to go back to the first day they met together, in the playground, when they were so carefree and they didn't have to worry about feelings or sexualities or anxiety or their parents divorcing.

Len pushed his forehead into the hard surface of the doorframe when Lily said softly, "Len, honey, are you— have you been drinking?" A pause. "You called the home phone."

And he chose that exact moment to end the call, thumb jamming painfully into the _end call_ button, just to ensure it was over, just to play it safe. Then, fumbling, sinking to his ass with tears wetting his cheeks out of pure embarrassment (mostly for drinking; this was about where it got him every single time), he dialed for Miku's contact, shoved his phone to his ear. As per usual, she picked up on the second ring, asking, "Yo, li'l bro. What's up?"

"Miku," Len said, mustering up as much composure as he could, "I just fucked up real bad."

He could hear wood scraping against the floor, and a muffled apology. Her voice, however, back on the line was as clear as day.

"I'm on my way."

.

Len was in the kitchen with his head jammed in his arms, repressing the urge to cry for a fourth time, when Miku kicked down the front door, grocery bags dangling from off her arms, expression concerned but steeled.

"Who hurt you?" she demanded, slamming the grocery bags on the aisle countertop and throwing herself abruptly into chair beside Len, legs tossed backwards around the splat.

"Me," Len said, his voice contorted by where his mouth met his shirt. "I did."

"I'm sure you didn't," Miku said, "because I'm also just as sure you wouldn't interrupt my date over you being a dork about your feelings." When he twisted awkwardly in his seat with no response, Miku sighed and flicked his bangs. "Len," she groaned, "I'm kidding."

Len shook his head. "And I'm _not_ ," he said, waving a hand flippantly in the air before letting it sag languidly onto the table, palm upturned toward the ceiling. "I— I might've gotten drunk. And told Rin something really bad. And it may have actually turned out to be Lily instead of Rin. I may have told Lily I want to be in a polyamorous relationship with her daughter and her daughter's childhood best friend who actually kind of lives with them, but, you know. It's cool. No, really, it's fine."

Miku blinked once, twice. Her expression was deliriously baffled. "You didn't," she said, evenly and cautiously but with absolute bewilderment. " _Len_ , you moron, _why_!"

"I didn't mean to!" Len said, sitting upright and gesturing between him and Miku to prove some kind of a point. "I was drunk! I _still_ am! And I'm scared and nervous and dumb because Lily's going to tell Rin and Rin's going to tell Kaito and my only option will be to throw myself out a window so these feelings stop punching me in the face!"

"Oh, Christ, Len, don't joke about that," Miku said, whapping him roughly on the shoulder.

"Which part?" Len scoffed, rubbing at his shoulder. "The throwing myself out a window part or the my feelings are punching me in the friggin' face part?"

Miku sighed, slumping her cheek in the cusp of her palm. "Li'l bro—"

"I'm only _an hour younger than you_ ," Len retorted.

Miku sighed again, louder this time, lolling dramatically out of her seat and over to the grocery bags sprawled all across the countertop. "If we're going to get through this, we're going to need ice cream," she said, and plopped a pint of Ben and Jerry's right in front of Len, smacking a spoon beside it.

He glared at her as he popped off the cap and dug the spoon straight through the ice cream, not eating it, just twirling it around idly until his sister again seated herself beside him with her own. "So," she said, taking a bite and quirking a brow, "you've mentioned the 'I like two people dynamic' before but— never the, ah. Polyamorous part."

Len frowned, digging his spoon deeper into his ice cream. "I figured that part out, like, a week ago. I felt like shit about what I was feeling, you weren't here to help me, and so I Googled it. And found it. And thought, _huh_ , well, that's damn accurate."

"So now Lily knows," Miku said, flipping a pigtail out of her face. Len nodded meekly. Miku shrugged, continuing, "Alright, yeah. So what? So what if she tells Rin and Rin tells Kaito? Aren't they supposed to be your best friends? They'll understand you and remain by your side no matter what you say or feel. Like—" Miku flicked her spoon toward Len's forehead as he slunk lower in his seat, accusatory. "Remember when I kind of liked Luka? And confessed, but she said no because she wasn't interested in relationships, but thanked me for my honesty? Remember?"

"I remember," Len grumbled through a mouthful of ice cream.

Miku grinned and nudged him, a sparkle to her teal eyes. "And where do Luka and I stand now, huh? Right where we originally did. Nothing's changed. Nothing—"

"Nothing's changed?" Len echoed in discontent. "You're joking. Miku, _everything's_ changed. Everything keeps changing and it's a literal shithole."

"What are you talking about?" Miku asked, regarding him with total innocence, blind to the matter at hand.

"Maybe nothing's changed for you, but it's been changing a helluva lot for me," Len muttered, pushing his ice cream aside and dropping his chin onto his knuckles. "The bond you, Luka and I had when were kids isn't even there anymore. You know? Luka's always studying, you're always— going out with girls and I'm just— here, I've always been here, I can't _leave_. Mom and Dad are such jerks these days, our relationship is severed, and I'm a weirdo that has no idea who he is."

Len turned, cheek pressed to his sleeve as he stared up at Miku's worried demeanor with something akin to frustration. "I feel like shit," he said, "all the time. Every minute of every damn day. You say nothing's changed but _look at us_ , Miku. You've changed, I've changed. _We've changed_. All of this has changed, you— you don't even _drink_ with me anymore. It's lonely. And it's not going to stop being lonely. It's not going to magically fix itself."

"But," Miku said, resting her hand atop his head, "you want it to, huh?"

"More than anything else," Len muttered and his gaze fell to the floor, to the flour littering the ground because of their dad's inability to cook. He closed his eyes and pretended he was in outer space, just for a heartbeat, surrounded by nothing but the stars and galactic emptiness.

After a beat, Miku stood up, tousled Len's hair, and said, "Call Rin."

Len glanced up at her, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Why?" he asked. "To embarrass myself even more?"

"No, dummy." Miku mused. "Lily's a good mom. I don't think she'd spill your guts to Rin for you when you can do it yourself." Taking a step back, Miku hopped up onto the aisle counter, swinging her legs and cocking her head. "She'd want you to do the honest thing. I want you to do the honest thing, too. Stop trying to hide this from yourself. If it's what you want, who you are, then go for it."

"But—"

"No but's," Miku interrupted, waggling a finger at him. "Li'l bro, you're gonna have to take chances in life. Mess up, screw up. Get over it. And it's not as if you know what either Rin or Kaito are going to say. They might not reject you. You're assuming. Don't do that."

Silence. Len squirmed in his seat, head down, and Miku puffed out a short breath from her nose. "Alright, well, I'm going to go upstairs and incessantly apologize to Meiko for ditching for your sake. Might go to Luka's after with some soup. Wanna come?" she asked.

Len shrugged. "Maybe," he replied.

Miku sympathetically stared at him from the stairwell, then muttered incoherently and ascended the steps to her room. Meanwhile, Len remained where he was, chewing away at the skin around his fingernails. Eventually, he pulled his phone from his pocket, shaking, and glanced around skeptically. Then he punched in for Rin's number— her cell number, this time —and waited.

"Len!" she cried on the first ring, hopeful and delighted. Probably in those green pajama bottoms and a tank top. The pink one, with the blue zebra stripes. Definitely that one. "I've been waiting for you to call me for a week, geez. Are— you okay? My mom said you called the home phone really panicked…"

Len scratched at the nape of his neck, clicking his tongue in procrastination. "She didn't say what it was about?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, ah. No. No, she didn't, um. Should she have?"

"No. God, _no_ , I'm glad she didn't. Um. Yeah, it's. Do you— do you think you and Kaito could meet me at the diner tomorrow afternoon?"

"Of course," Rin said, and for good measure, she repeated it: "Yes, duh, of course. But everything's— everything's okay, right?"

Len bit his lip, contemplating. "I think so," he said. "I mean. It will be. I hope."

"Lenny, you're making me nervous."

"Honey," Len sighed, "you've got a big storm coming."

Miku came bounding down the stairs about a minute later, just as Len was in the middle of saying his goodbye's. He hung up, turned to Miku. She beamed at him, all teeth, bright and white and gleaming.

"You did it?" she asked. Her outfit had evolved from a pretty black dress to baggy sweatpants, three sweatshirts, one tied around her waist, and her hair wrapped into a messy bun. Len liked this Miku a lot better than the other Miku.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess."

"You coming to Luka's?"

"Obviously," Len said, and Miku laughed as she pulled him out the door.

.

The diner was crowded, packed full of other people, and there Len sat, across from Rin and Kaito, tapping his foot nervously, playing with the straw of his soda, mildly wishing it was wine instead and he was drunk beyond belief so that this conversation would be easier to have.

He must have been being too quiet, because Kaito leaned over the table to tug at his ponytail, dragging him into the painful grip of reality once more. He swallowed the lump gathering in his throat, smiling awkwardly at Kaito when he said, "You still all there?"

"Yeah, uh." Len reached to adjust his hair, giving up and eventually letting it rest in a tangled mess at his shoulders. He set the elastic aside, drummed his fingers, tried to think up an excuse. He took in a shuddering breath, lifting his gaze, and said, "So, there's something I've been, uh— wanting to talk to the two of you about." He traced the rim of his glass with the tip of his finger, keeping himself concentrated, pushing away the still lingering aftermath of a hangover. "I've been thinking about it for a really long time."

"Okay," Rin said slowly, picking at the fries resting in the tin in between them. Her blonde brows were pulled together suspiciously but she didn't urge anything further from him.

"I've— had this kind of...attraction, lately," he started, trying not to watch as Rin's face gently reddened, enough for it to be noticeable but not prominent. Kaito gaped, pushing stray locks of cobalt blue hair from his face. Len choked on another breath and jerked his gaze downward. "It's, like, an attraction— to...to both...of you."

He winced the moment the words were out of his mouth, expecting the worst, rage and hatred and fries being thrown at him, Coke dumped over his head. Expected Rin gasping and slapping him in disgust, expected Kaito scooping her up, proposing to her right then and there.

It didn't happen. They only stared at him, open and pliant (and _understanding_ , they _understood_ ), fidgeting, but not nervously. Only curiously. As if they wanted to listen, wanted to help. And Len thought, not for the first time, that Miku had been right. She was always right. Don't assume. Never assume the worst, nor the best. Don't do it.

"Not in a way where...it's a love triangle type deal or— whatever, but—" Len grit his teeth, dragging his fingernails over his forehead. "It's— in the sense where I— I want...I want to be with both of you. At the same time. And— and do the things normal couples do. Us three."

There was quiet. Panic erupted in Len's chest, awaiting that rejection, at any minute. But it didn't come, and somehow that was worse, the way they looked at him, blank and uncertain. Len twitched, muttering, "Okay, okay, this is weird, I know, I just," and making a move to leave, to escape the tension. Suddenly, Rin caught his wrist, squeezing reassuringly. When he met her gaze, it was tender. Soft. Kaito's was no different.

"Hang on," Rin said, and Len did. He relaxed into his seat, letting Rin rub at his knuckles (and Kaito, too, eventually, enjoying the peace of it). His breaths evened out, the dread of rejection subsiding into something like lulling hope.

It was Kaito who asked sweetly, "You want to invest in a polyamorous relationship?" He hesitated, and a smile quirked the corners of his lips. "With us?"

"Yeah," Len whispered, watching their fingers move along his wrist, his knuckles, his fingers. "Yeah, I really do." (God, he did.)

Kaito and Rin exchanged a glance, this connection transcending through them that Len had experienced with Luka so often growing up. His heart swelled to bursting, his body going alight with a fervent urgency for a response and an answer; a confirmation. And it came, it did, when Kaito and Rin looked at him again, that light glistening in their eyes that had Len on the verge of crying like a whiny baby all over again.

"I think we'd like to try that," Rin said. She extended a hand to tuck some of Len's hair behind his ear. The touch left him burning, made worse when Kaito mussed his bangs and stared dreamily at him from where he was still leaning away from his seat, as if this was all some kind of a fantasy.

"I could share him," Kaito teased, flicking Rin's forehead, and she laughed and elbowed him playfully in the ribs. And for a moment, a heart-splitting, mind-awakening moment, Len saw a future that wasn't consumed in guilt for everything he was. He saw a future blissful and warm, tucked in between Kaito and Rin, watching cheesy rom coms late into the night, drinking tea, perfectly aware of his existence and what it meant to him.

He saw a future with meaning to it. With purpose. And he kind of felt dizzy with love he'd never experienced before.

That had more worth to him than anything.

.

On their first official date, Len showed up— as requested —at Rin's house in the best clothes he could find in his limited wardrobe, a white button-up and sweater vest with khakis, hair neat and brushed and tied up, and flowers that Miku, sobbing her eyes out with happiness, had helped him to pick out. They were roses, which originally was what he was going to pick in the first place, but Miku had insisted on this bouquet, only his one.

He knocked on the door, buzzing with anticipation. He spent the next moment rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at the stars and thinking about outer space, emptiness, that void that was being filled, bit by bit by bit.

The door swung upon, and in the doorway was not Rin, not Kaito, but Lily, and she grinned at him with such passion that Len nearly swooned into the bushes. "Uh," he said, tugging on his collar with a finger to prevent himself from suffocating on all the things he wanted to say, "hi?"

"Nice to see you, Len," Lily said, pursing her lips. The creases of her eyes exposed her banter blatantly. Len gripped the bouquet tighter. "You look absolutely lovely."

"I, uh— thanks. Thank you," Len stuttered out, rubbing his mouth impatiently. "Rin and Kaito here?" he asked, trying to peer over Lily's shoulder, but she was an entire wall in the span of the door, towering and sturdy. He glanced at her in a plea, knowing exactly what was prone to come out of her lips any minute now.

"I'm glad you told them," Lily said softly, shaking platinum blonde hair out of her eyes, in a fashion similar to Rin when she didn't clip her bangs back with barrettes, to Kaito when he forgot to gel his, which he usually did. Lily squeezed Len's shoulder, grinning, her approval stamped into his soul. "You make them so happy."

"I— do?" Len asked lamely, because that didn't seem too possible. When was the last time he actually made someone other than Miku or Luka happy?

"You'll take good care of them," Lily said, backing out of the doorway, broadcasting Rin and Kaito in the kitchen, adjusting each other's outfits, Kaito messing with Rin's bow and Rin adjusting Kaito's tie. Lily winked at Len and added, "I know you will," before whirling to call the two over.

They practically sprinted their way to the threshold, Lily intelligently slipping out of their path as they halted in front of Len, dazzling in moonlight, more gorgeous then than they'd ever seemed to be in the rest of the three years Len had known them. His heart crawled up his throat, throbbing against his tongue, and he ineptly thrust the flowers forward.

He didn't manage to get a word out before Rin was grappling for them, smelling them, gasping and displaying them to Kaito. They thanked him profusely, passed the bouquet off to Lily (who was _watching_ , goddamn), and then— then they tilted, in perfect sync, and each planted a kiss on one of Len's cheeks.

If Len had the ability to spontaneously combust, he would have. Instead, being at least relatively civil (and maybe a little sappy) he threw his arms around Kaito and Rin's waists, yanked them tight to his chest, let their arms wind around him, and held him there, for as long as time allowed him to.

As they were, just like that— in life, with Miku and Luka by his side, Meiko ebbing her way into their vastly spreading family —Len thought that things really weren't as bad as he made them out to be.

Things weren't bad at all.

* * *

 **This is,, my ultimate ot3. I love them. Thank you Noe for this prompt because I ;; loved writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it! I,, expanded on it more than I needed to but HEY it was fun and that's what matters.** **I also put a lot of emotional vent into Len. He's a good venting character. As per usual I apologize for any grammatical/spelling errors I'm too lazy to beta lol.**

 **Anyway! Thank you everyone for the read, and the support, and the reviews and suggestions! You guys are the best.**

 **Next up:** Kaito/Meiko/Miku.


	11. intermezzo (meiko, miku, kaito)

**Prompt:** With the beginnings of a dying singing career on her hands, Meiko thought there was nothing left for her to do except become a drunk old washed-up has-been. She certainly wasn't expecting anything like this.

 **Pairing:** Kaito/Meiko/Miku.

 **Requested by:** Katadenza.

* * *

Over time, Meiko has become stupidly embarrassed by the fact that Clover Club is her release whenever her life takes a turn for the worst. Then again, in the span of three long, exhausting years, nothing has really taken any drastic turns. Everything has been static. Level. Yet here she is, staring up at bright blue letters strewn across a newly painted roof streaked in black and gold, craving alcohol like she's never craved it before, her heart in her throat and the ruins of her career trailing her like a shadow.

She glances around the sidewalk as she adjusts the coat that hoods her features in the hopes that no one recognizes her (or maybe that's exactly what she wants). Straightening herself, she places a palm on one of two large _C_ 's framing the handles of the doorway, relishing in the fact that, like her, this place has changed. She is not the only one who has since slipped through the cracks of another self.

Except, unfairly, Clover Club has changed for the best, while Meiko realizes with a drowning sense of helplessness that she has done nothing but change for the worst. Here she goes again, too, tripping into a darkened tunnel that doesn't have any exit. _You know what happened the last time you were here_ , she reminds herself, _don't you_? She does— as if she could forget —but self-deprecating one night stands and drunken bar fights are some of many things she wants to put behind her tonight.

She pushes open the doors.

The atmosphere is overwhelmingly different than what it used to be, to the point Meiko almost has her feet swept out from under her just from the _intensity_. Beneath her the floor is a pristine, smooth sanguine, a shade of red that melts against the burgundy chairs and tables scattered around the lobby. The walls are dark, shaded an off-black, flecked here and there with white. It smells not of booze and body odor but instead of lilac and mint, a major improvement from the past.

What has her attention enraptured, though, is the stage. Or, perhaps, the woman upon it, gracing the audience with her passionate singing and the lulling swing of jazz that carries her. She rocks her hips melodiously, grinning through the music and walking with a bounce to her steps around the stand of her microphone, twirling this way and that, leaving Meiko with a startling liberation.

Clover Club never used to offer live entertainment, or pretty furniture, or people in classy clothing sipping elegant drinks with their pinkies up, their chins poised and tilted toward the ceiling, mouths slipping into wry smiles. Clover Club used to be a place for the wicked. To lay them to rest.

Now it's crowded by rich dwellers, girls that have kicked themselves into modern times from the 1950's and boys that keep their money tucked neatly into the folds of their jacket pockets. This isn't where Meiko belongs, not anymore, and the flair she found in the club's ability to transform has died and rotted in the tight clench of her fists. It has ascended far beyond her, as perhaps it always has.

She moves like liquid through the lobby, her gaze flitting again and again toward the teal-haired girl casting her spell on the audience, and then to the bar, and then back. There's something magical in her performance: how she moves, languid yet assured; how she sings, sweet yet pulsing with a dazzling heaviness.

Meiko drops herself into a stool by the bar and wonders, absently, if she envies the girl on the stage or admires her. It could be both. (She's petty enough that it could definitely be both.)

She waves a bartender toward her, fixing her hood and her sunglasses and trying not to remember how _shady_ she looks, but she's obstinate on keeping her identity quiet for as long as she can. If anyone recognizes her (why don't they?) then there's a chance she'll be greeted by less familiar faces, more passive aggressive interviewers that writhe against her memories for a chance to see what led to her spiraling out of control and, in turn, a headache. A lot of headaches.

Before she can get too worked up about it, a man sidles up to her on the other side of the counter, a tall, lanky kind of guy with deeply cobalt eyes and _why_ he's wearing a scarf over a V-neck is a question Meiko isn't quite ready to ask. She peers up at him skeptically, because he looks nothing like the other bartenders around, all clad in fancy sweater vests and ties and bows and headbands.

Meiko would say she's not one to judge, except that she _is_. And she's starting to regret flagging this guy down for her, quickly craning her neck to pass heed onto any of the other bartenders in her peripheral.

 _Too late_ , she registers; the guy has already started talking, hands splayed over the counter and a chiding smile on his lips. Meiko makes a point of staring at his fingers rather than his face— they're piano fingers, slender and ghostly pale in the haze of brightly lit lanterns behind him on either side —and keeps her chin slumped listlessly in the cusp of her palm.

"Evening," the guy greets, childishly flipping his bangs out of his eyes. "How can I help you?"

"Just get me your strongest whatever," Meiko says as she idly flaps her hand at him. He seems the type to want to make conversation with her, but all the same indefinitely awkward. The kind of person Meiko dislikes the most to deal with when she's wasted.

Thankfully (actually, it's pretty unfortunate), she isn't drunk just quite yet, so she can manage him for at least a little while without wanting to choke herself out.

As it turns out, he doesn't try to initiate any chatter between the two of them. Instead, he grins, gives her a two-fingered salute and a hearty, "Can do!" as he spins around and meanders off to the side to prepare her something. Meiko watches him with a quirked brow, a smidge annoyed that she'd predicted him to be...different. Maybe it's all the country music she's been listening to lately. She's almost ninety-nine percent sure that that can make a person change their attitude in a heartbeat.

The music behind her (which is, on the contrary, _much_ better than country) shifts in tempo. Speeds up, crescendos. Meiko revolves in her seat to once again become fascinated by the singer she'd spotted earlier. She's got a stronger aura emanating from her now. She seems more alive.

"Miku's got your interest, huh?"

Meiko jerks around and is faced, somehow to her surprise, by Scarf Guy again. She narrows her eyes. "What?" she says eloquently.

Scarf Guy jabs a Piano Finger at Jazz Girl (Meiko is having a hard time finding other fitting names) and repeats with genuine idolization, "Hatsune Miku. Her." He hums, elbows slanted over the counter as his white teeth poke out of his smile. "You've been watching her for quite a bit."

"Yeah? And?" Meiko scoffs, reaching for the foaming glass Scarf Guy has set in front of her. She pushes the rim to her lips, attempting to take a sip but in lieu blurting, "She's got serious talent."

"I know," he replies easily. He's not trying to be subtle in his patient observing, gaze flitting from her forehead to her neck but, oddly, never anywhere lower than that. (Is he catching on?) "You must not be from around here," he continues. "Everyone from around here loves her. She's our most popular performer." A pause; if possible, his smile splits wider. "Aside from myself, of course."

 _Fucking piano fingers_ , Meiko thinks. She takes a swig of her booze and shoves her sunglasses further up the bridge of her nose, sniffing. "Then why are you _here_ ," Meiko says, waving a hand behind her at her stage, "and not up _there_?"

"Because down here I get the chance to meet celebrities," Scarf Guy says cheekily. "Liiiike _you_ , for example."

If given the chance to spontaneously combust, Meiko would have taken it, right here and right now. No regrets.

"Oh my God," she sputters, roughly shoving away her drink and bringing her face down in between her arms. "You're joking. I can't be that obvious."

Scarf Guy laughs, clapping his hands together. "The glasses really give it away. Or, well, maybe I just know you too well. Miku and I are pretty big fans of your music." He shrugs, noting Meiko's glare spiking his way. "What? You're really good. It's kind of a huge deal seeing you around here, you know."

"If it was a 'huge deal', you'd think you'd be a little more invested," Meiko murmurs, nursing another sip of her booze. It stings her throat on its way down, just the way she likes it.

"Oh, I'm very invested," Scarf Guy says. "But I'm assuming you don't like too much attention, do you?" He gestures at Meiko's (very poorly done) get-up. "I mean, unless I've got you and your awful disguise all wrong?"

"I like the attention when people aren't slobbering all over me, yeah." Meiko rolls her eyes, slumping and running a hand through her newly hacked brunette hair. "When you get dropped from your record label and overall fired for not being 'appealing enough', it's pretty fucking hard not to get slobbered over, wouldn't you say?"

Scarf Guy's eyebrows fly up. "Dropped? That's funny. Media made it seem like you quit…"

"Media spews bullshit," Meiko huffs. "It has a tendency to make me the bad guy in everything. But you get used to it, especially when you hit rock bottom."

"Well, you're not dead or a drug-addict, so you're not _totally_ at rock bottom."

"Not yet." Meiko raises her beer and chugs another quarter of the contents, slamming the glass onto the counter with a sigh of discontent. "I'm well on my way, buddy," she mutters.

It's then that music shorts, interrupted by a volley of enthusiastic applause. Meiko adjusts herself to face the stage, watching Jazz Girl— Miku, _whatever_ —giggling and curtsying to those praising her, giving her teal pigtails modest tosses over her shoulders. She casts her gaze over their heads toward Scarf Guy, gives him a smile and a waggle of the fingers, and proceeds to descend the stairs into the lobby as another woman with a cropped blonde bob takes her place.

Meiko slowly turns to Scarf Guy again, sipping her beer with her head lowered as Miku plops herself into the seat beside her with a chiming, "Hit me up with a mojito, Kaito! I'm _parched_ over here and— _hellooooo_ , who might you be?"

It takes Meiko a moment to register that Miku is talking to _her_ ; not even talking, really. It's more just downright flirting because this girl obviously has no restraint and way too much sociability for Meiko to handle. Just like Scarf Guy— Kaito, apparently —she's immensely exuberant, full of chatter and a general urge to interact. Not awkward, after all. Not in the slightest.

Meiko drinks more of her alcohol down; she's going to need a good buzz if she's going to get through this.

"That," Kaito says before Meiko can utter another word, "is Sakine Meiko herself!" He passes a mojito off to Miku, who takes a contemplative sip, humming in thought.

Her eyes blow wide, suddenly, and she spits mojito onto both the counter and Meiko's lap with a violent cry of what _might_ be delight. She might also be dying. There's no ruling that one out by the way she's pounding on her chest with tears in her eyes.

Meiko jabs a finger toward the teal-haired woman beside her, face hot. "Is she—?"

Kaito waves a flippant hand. "Oh, she's fine. She's just not nearly as good at being polite as I am."

"Screw _you_!" Miku hacks, and with one final thump, she rights herself, beaming. "I have every right to be excited! It's not everyday you get to meet your _idol_!" There's a lot of emphasis on idol, to say the least. A few stray glances pass their direction, and Meiko, heavily provoked, tugs her hood up and busies herself with her booze, trying to remain (mostly) unnoticed.

Miku scoots her stool a bit closer to Meiko's, legs swinging eagerly. "I can't believe it. Honestly! What even _brings_ you here? This is pretty far out from where you live, isn't it?"

" _Lived_ ," Meiko corrects, gaze trained solely on where Kaito is busy mopping up Miku's mojito spit. "I'm moving back here, actually. I have no interest in being surrounded by those other fame-indulged asshats who get to feed off my suffering…" She trails off in a mutter that she actually doesn't even understand herself, but Kaito and Miku let her go off until she adds resolutely: "Although, at the moment, I don't actually have a place to stay."

It's almost magical how much Miku's eyes brighten at the mention. Her mouth drops open, snaps shut, and parts swiftly again to say, "You should come stay with _us_ until you get a place of your own!"

"...Us?" Meiko echoes, stopping shy of bringing her glass to her lips.

Miku nods eagerly. "Yeah, yeah! Kaito and I have a place together, and— well, we have a futon, we could make space for you, _we will_!"

Kaito is already reaching for her, his face twisted into a panicked grimace. He claps a hand over Miku's mouth, smearing her lipstick and spilling more of her mojito in the process. But he at least shuts her up enough to smile apologetically at Meiko. "Sorry, _sorry_ , she tends to get a little too, uh, excited over the— _prospect_ of—"

"Are you two an item?" Meiko interrupts, quirking a brow ( _leave no brow unquirked_ , she thinks tipsily, realizing she's finished her beer and urging Kaito to get her another).

He peels himself off of Miku to take the glass and refill it, giving Miku leeway to slump dramatically against the counter in a spectacular showing of the most exasperated sigh Meiko has ever heard in her life. Not only is Jazz Girl meant to sing; she's meant to live, breathe and be _on_ the stage. Be one with it.

"It's _complicated_ ," Miku says. "We're not _not_ an item, but, it's not like we're going _out_ either."

"So," Meiko supplies, "friends with benefits, then?"

"Oh _God_ , no." Shaking his head, Kaito drops another beer in front of Meiko and pushes his palm affectionately into Miku's hair, ruffling it. "Well, _maybe_ , but a less intimate version of it? We don't—" He flushes and awkwardly flicks his wrists. " _You know_."

In a quick motion, Meiko throws back a large portion of her alcohol, turns to the two blue-haired buffoons staring at her, and says, "And you want me to invade on this precious personal space of yours?"

"Yes," they say in tandem.

(Arguably, agreeing to the request isn't the best thing that's happened in Meiko's life, but it's certainly not the worst either.)

.

In the span of a month, Meiko learns a handful of things about her strangers-turned-roommates.

One: Kaito is a _fantastic_ cook, and Miku makes amazing shakes before bed that successfully replace Meiko's desire to drink herself to death. The homemade meals and snacks are a good boost to her energy and stamina, properly motivating her (sometimes) to get back up on her feet.

Two: Both Kaito and Miku go to Clover Club almost every single night, whether it be to perform, to serve or to mingle. They drag Meiko along with them when she's not feeling self-conscious, and eventually, hiding her identity becomes a nuisance, so she stops hiding it at all. A crowd at Clover Club exploded over this, but Kaito and Miku have a way of keeping others at bay.

Three: As the weeks progress, Meiko finds herself waking up less and less often _alone_ on the futon. Miku likes cuddling, apparently. She likes cuddling more so on the nights all three of them return from the club, and Kaito, being a practical teddy bear himself, enjoys piling in, too. Meiko is always, for some reason, in the middle.

Four: Neither Kaito nor Miku knows what personal space is, or what the meaning of 'strangers' is. They behave with Meiko like they would behave with a woman they've known their entire lives. It's baffling but not— not _unwelcome_. Meiko is touch starved, she can admit that, having spent so long in isolation and dabbling in hook-ups that never quite meant anything. This is an exceptional change, the way Kaito won't mind touching her shoulder. The way Miku will tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

Five: Kaito's piano fingers are some damn _good_ piano fingers. Sometimes, he'll play the piano in the lounge of the house, and Miku will kick herself up on top of it, and they'll sing, just for Meiko. And they're brilliant. Mindbogglingly so.

Six: Thankfully, all three of them are fans of movies, so Miku assigns Friday as their official movie night (Kaito continues to call it a 'movie _date_ ', rather. Meiko doesn't know how she feels about that.)

Seven: Sometimes Kaito and Miku share in actions that would definitely be considered romantic, but they continue on their stand that it isn't really that— " _it's complicated_!" —even when Kaito pecks Miku's forehead or Miku throws her arms around Kaito's waist while he cooks and buries her face in between his shoulder blades.

Eight: Miku wakes up late, goes to sleep late; Kaito is much the opposite, waking early, sleeping early. Their intervals of sleep throw Meiko off considering, if she could, would sleep all day.

Nine: They're avid readers, both of them, with an entire library stock-full and alphabetically organized. On the nights Meiko doesn't go with them to Clover Club, she reads instead, stores words inside her head to use for later.

Ten: It's easy to fall for them. Too easy, not even a _challenge_. (And Meiko is sick of challenges, so why not give into temptation? They continue to show her nothing but kindness, provide her food and shelter and warmth and niceties. So why is it so _bad_? To feel this way, just a little bit?)

All of these things, strangely, make her want to sing again. Being with them, feeling for them, these two strangers that accepted her with open arms even after knowing how dark she was on the inside, how rotten she was, an apple without a core, infested by worms...It's inspiring.

They inspire her.

One night, as Meiko is sitting on the futon, she scrawls nearly indistinguishable text into a notebook she previously snatched from Miku's room. They feel like the beginnings to a song, to lyrics. Maybe. If she's lucky, then they might be. Her heart and soul might be coming back to her.

She gets so absorbed into it that she doesn't hear the front door open, doesn't hear loud hollering or footsteps coming down the corridor; she does, however, feel deadweight fold against her flank and hot breath gust over her neck.

Miku is draped over her like a blanket, smiling a little drunkenly, her eyes bleary. "What'cha got there?" she says melodically, hooking her chin over Meiko's shoulder.

Kaito slithers up behind her, poking at his tongue and tucking his nose into Meiko's hair, arms encompassing both girls, pulling them close to him. He doesn't say anything, which is enough to tell Meiko he's probably drunk himself, and, more importantly, exhausted.

"Nothing," Meiko says, and she casts the notebook aside to make room on the futon for all three of them to sleep.

They do, soundly.

.

Another month passes, and Meiko adds another couple of things to her growing list of Miku and Kaito's many attributes, her new personal favorite being that they are absolutely entranced every time Meiko sings for them. Which is frequent, actually. Meiko has no interest in signing a contract for a new record label and producer that will end up failing her all over again, but it doesn't mean that her love for singing has vanished.

It's been nulled by fame, sure, and the blatant horror of it, but it resonates. It will always resonate, she's sure of it. And her strangers-turned-friends listen open-mouthed and _dying_ whenever Meiko so much as whistles a tune.

Before long, Kaito starts nudging her into their little piano performances around the house. Meiko acquiesces, eventually, after a _lot_ of nagging and puppy-dog-eyes. Kaito settles himself on the piano bench, Miku beside him with her head resting on his shoulder, grinning up at Meiko who finds herself on the lid with her legs tucked underneath her.

Kaito starts to play a song. A very, _very_ familiar song.

Meiko's face burns, but she opens her mouth and sings anyway, and it melds into a duet, Miku chiming in here and there to make fluttering harmonies with one of them, nodding along, pointing her fingers while Kaito's fly across the piano.

 _On the Rocks_ had been a song Meiko wrote back in the beginnings of her career, a precarious thing meant to be enacted by two; it had been written in a time where Meiko had found happiness in a partner, but Luka was long gone, and the song had lost its meaning.

Or, so she had thought.

It's different now, with them, with Kaito and Miku. It has so much meaning that it kind of stings, pushes a knife through her heart. In a masochistically _amazing_ type of way, where she's singing through a stupid ass smile with tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She'd forgotten how much she loved this song. Loved singing.

Loved company.

When they finish, breathless and laughing, Meiko turns to Kaito and swats at his temple, smirking. "You and Miku have been singing this for awhile, eh? You knew every note by _heart_ , didn't stumble, didn't hesitate." She presses her hand to her chest, feigning flattery. "I'm impressed."

"It's our favorite song to practice," Miku says, "but we've kind of mastered it, so...It's more of just a fun-times kinda thing now."

"We also really like _Piano_ ," Kaito adds, but his forehead creases down the center as he says it. "Except we can't seem to ever get it right...It doesn't sound _normal_ when it's not in your voice."

Meiko raises her shoulders and hops off of the piano lid. "If you're lucky, maybe I'll sing it for you one of these days. Give you the ole'—" She makes a pathetic attempt at jazz hands —"razzle dazzle."

" _Please_ ," Kaito says, about the same time Miku cries, "I would pay you to razzle dazzle me!"

For the first time in what might be ages, Meiko finds herself laughing openly, head thrown back, the sensation vibrating in every part of her body. For the first time, she feels _home_.

.

Meiko is rusty with the piano. With most instruments, but with the piano most of all. She tries to get into the gist of it again when Miku is out grocery shopping and Kaito is sprawled on the couch with a book open on his face, dozing. She fumbles throughout most of the song _Piano_ , _on_ the piano, mostly because the song requires a lot of rounds and quick transitions between her ranges of voice.

In order to ever perform it properly, she's going to need assistance. Back-up vocals: Kaito, Miku, _the like_. She needs them to preserve her musical passion. She needs them to preserve her _sanity_.

Thinking that gives her comfort.

The next time she plays through the song, Meiko staggers the notes only twice.

.

She goes with Kaito and Miku to Clover Club in the middle of the next passing week, craving booze and a charming display of entertainment. She plans carefully, because tonight both of her blue-haired dorks are singing and Meiko gets to avoid conversation with bartenders and live in an _experience_ , watch the two of them come to life.

Miku kicks the show off with her classic fan-favorite, _One Room, All That Jazz_ , delves into a newer one of hers— _Skeleton Orchestra and Lilia_ , which leaves Meiko baffled beyond belief and blown the fuck away —and then Kaito is there, and they're dancing ballroom and singing what Meiko knows as _Cantarella_ , and she loses herself.

Submerges herself completely in the music, drowns in it. She goes under sipping at vodka with her pinky raised, shaking it at Kaito when he catches her eye. A grin breaks out on his lips through his singing, and he turns, dips Miku effortlessly so her curled pigtails brush the wooden floor, and sweeps her up again, twirling her hand above their heads.

They stand so close, so intimately, a blur of alabaster and obsidian silk, and Meiko's heart skips a beat, skips two beats. She stops breathing.

Meiko thinks, fleetingly, _I want to be up there with them._

.

"Okay, but get this," Kaito says one evening while making breakfast. "A superhero series where the superheroes _suck_. Like, just completely fuck everything up. And they always think they're making things better but in the end they're making it a thousand times worse. But everyone supports them anyways? And they form this huge ass robot and for all the people they save is how much damage they do and it's super ironic because they probably put like six hundred more people into the hospital at the end of a day's work."

Miku smacks her head onto the kitchen table. "Kaito, not _again_ —"

"No, no! Hear me out on it this time, it's not like Power Rangers, I _swear_!" He points his spatula at Meiko, who's been trying her hardest not to laugh this entire time. "They're, like, the Urotander Rangers and they're awful and probably color-coded and not good at anything they do— _Meiko_ , Meiko, _stop laughing_! You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Kai, it's like Power Rangers puked all over Voltron after having a baby together. Then they puked on the baby. That's the Urotander Rangers," Meiko teases. When she sees his shoulders slump defeatedly, she huffs and sips her coffee, smirking. "Relax, I'm _kidding_. It's a cute idea."

Kaito straightens up so quickly Meiko is amazed his spine doesn't snap. He whirls toward Miku and pumps his hand triumphantly in the air. "Told you she'd like it!" he cheers, right as his eggs start burning; he yelps and whips around to tend to them.

Behind him, Miku lolls her head at Meiko and scrunches up her nose. "You've inspired a monster," she mutters groggily. "Save yourself while you still can."

"Oh, come on," Meiko snorts, elbowing Miku's temple fondly. "Let the man dream. If he wants Voltron-Power Ranger vomit babies, he can have 'em and we'll support him for it."

"Thank you!" Kaito chimes from the stove, still aggressively stirring a sluice of eggs around in a pan to try and fix them. "We'll make it a best-selling manga, write a _song series_ for it, design cheesy costume designs and—"

"Ugh, it's too _early_ for this!" Miku cries, smacking her head brutally against the table again. "Just give me my eggs and let me suffer in _peace_!"

To spite her, Meiko drags her to her chest and fidgets with her hair in a fruitless endeavor to braid it, giving up and letting it slide through her fingers instead, working out knots and tangles mindlessly, meaning to annoy her and resulting in nothing but much needed cuddle time.

(She's relieved when Miku settles pleasantly against her, closes her eyes, relaxes, tells Meiko she likes having her hair played with.

She's even more relieved when Kaito places plates of eggs in front of them, and then, as if acting on instinct, kisses Meiko's forehead. Then Miku's, when she sits up and starts shoving eggs straight down the hatch.

Not that Meiko would admit that. Not that she has the guts.)

.

Meiko finalizes that song she's been working on. The lyrics, the instrumental, the chords; four months later and she ties it together, contemplating its worth and deciding that, to her, it's enough. When she slaps the notebook down in front of Kaito and Miku in the middle of dinner, it appears that it's enough for them, too.

"Holy shit," Kaito breathes. He glances up at Meiko, his cobalt eyes glittering. "You wrote _all_ of this? The sheet music and everything?"

"Read it and weep, babes," Meiko says nonchalantly, but the way the two of them are ogling her as if she's just been dropped from Heaven itself makes her heat uncontrollably. She touches the nape of her neck and blanches. "I got into a groove. You inspired me, I guess."

It's Miku's turn to whisper a dainty, " _Holy shit_ ," her delicate fingers flying up to her mouth to hide her surprise. "Mei, this is _amazing_ ," she whispers.

Hesitance. Then, Miku and Kaito cast each other a knowing look, nod, and glance back at Meiko, determined.

"You have to perform this at Clover Club," they say.

The best part of the declaration is that Meiko wants to.

Somewhere deep inside, this was what she's been waiting for all along. An opportunity to revel in what is hers, with the people she cares about, remaining steady and quaint in time. Infamous and unknown all the same, just to those who have seen her.

Those who have the chance.

.

The song, titled _Kowase, Kowase_ , is a hit the first time it's performed in Clover Club. Meiko herself is a hit, back up on a stage where she thinks she's belonged all this time, a place that she's missed despite hating it— _loathing_ it, and what it made of her —for so long.

Fire explodes around her in the middle of the song at the perfect crescendo, striking deep in Meiko's veins as she sinks into the music and into her body, overwhelmed by a heat that brands her anew.

Reminds her that like Clover Club, she has changed. Changed for the best.

She ends with a gasping breath, shrouded in a stampede of applause and _shrieking_ and encores, but she hardly has the energy to go on. It's been an eternity since she's done this, been up here, giving herself and her voice away.

It's been an eternity and oh, _oh_ , how she has missed it.

After she clambers off the stage, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from her forehead, arms are thrown around her. She knows it's Kaito and Miku without even having to _think_ , and she enfolds them tight to her chest with a shuddering exhale and trembling grin that starts to send a familiar ache into her cheeks.

"You did so well! Oh _man_ , you did so, _so_ well and I'm so proud of you, Mei! You deserve this, you really do!" Miku cries, burrowing into Meiko's embrace, giggling wetly.

Kaito nuzzles into Meiko's hair _sobbing_ , a fucking trainwreck, and Meiko wants them with her like this, up there, wants everything like this forever. The three of them here, there, anywhere, _everywhere_.

She wants this. She wants this and she has never wanted so badly and it has never hurt so _good_ , being here and letting the past go and living, living now, in this moment, where she has decided she is going to stay until she dissolves. Here.

Right

 _here_.

.

Meiko doesn't drink as much anymore.

(There's no need to veer from the sober life when Kaito and Miku make her feel more drunk than she's ever managed to be in her life before meeting them.)

.

Meiko gets offered a contract for a studio that has been keeping their eyes on her for a while, since her old one released her, apparently.

She denies, and kicks ass at Clover Club surrounded by always familiar faces instead.

.

She knows as well as the next guy that she's not a very good kisser. The media publicly exposed her on that one a year ago, when she and Luka had still been a thing and Luka had Tweeted this and that about Meiko trying to French her and how she thought it was endearing and cute when Meiko didn't know where to put her hands.

It isn't much different with Kaito and Miku, except in the fact that this, at least, doesn't lead to an inevitable breakup. And also that, unlike Luka and more like Meiko, Kaito and Miku are not good kissers either.

The first time is chaste, a measly meeting of lips between the two of them separately. It's morning, and they're shuffling about the kitchen, and Meiko just _acts_ ; she pecks Miku on the lips while she's scratching her mess of teal locks, eyes wrenched shut against blinding rays of sunlight. The mug of tea in her hand slips and shatters on the floor when Meiko kisses her.

But she doesn't stop there.

Kaito turns to look at her, mouth parting to say something, and then Meiko plants one on him and he goes _red_. Meiko barely gets the corner of his mouth, but it's still an epidemic.

He drops his spatula, accidentally sets some rice on fire, and Meiko is standing in the aftermath of Miku as she screams and hurries to find rags to clean up spilled honey-citrus tea and Kaito as he fans his face and shuts the stove off.

They eat breakfast in silence, Meiko smiling smugly and neither Kaito nor Miku unable to cease the bright, dumbfounded pinks of their cheeks.

(They get her back, though. They take turns kissing her whenever she wakes up because all three of them have taken to sleeping in a single bed upstairs. Sometimes they both go for it, and sometimes Meiko does, too. It's sloppy and stupid and she loves it. Well.

She loves them, more like.)

.

At home, a few weeks later, Meiko plays _Piano_ for her favorite strangers-turned-lovers.

They sing with her, and their voices blend in pitch, in tempo, in harmony. They blend into one voice, together.

And afterward, tired, their throats hoarse, they retire to the futon, Meiko curled up in the middle, Kaito on her left, Miku on her right with her legs kicked up into both of their laps, and they watch sadistic old horror movies late into the night. Kaito is the first to fall asleep, and then Miku, and Meiko stays awake for as long as she can, watching them.

She sings a lullaby, softly, and writes a thousand songs in her mind until she ebbs away into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

.

When they perform together at Clover Club for the first time, it's like being struck by lightning. They do their own medley of _On the Rocks_ and _Piano_ and _Kowase, Kowase_ , and stun the audience into silence for way too long when they surprise them with a new song, _Falling, Falling,_ that Meiko sings with so much vigor she nearly collapses from the fatigue of her exertion.

In the end, it's worth it, to see Miku and Kaito grinning at her when it's done with, and to feel them pressing their lips to her cheeks on their way out of the place, their arms wound protectively around her waist. There's so much intimacy in a performance like that, intimacy that touches and kisses don't match. And Meiko adores that, the wonder of existing on that stage with two people who have brought out the best in her.

"I don't know what I would've done without the two of you," Meiko murmurs that night, when they're in bed, meshed into a tangling sprawl of limbs and spooning.

Kaito talks into her neck, slurred by his exhaustion, "I'm glad we met you. You mended our horribly broken relationship. Right, Meeks?"

Miku crawls on top of Meiko just to bat at him with a muttered, "Oh, hush up!" and promptly collapses there. Kaito laughs, reaching out to tenderly rub soothing circles into Meiko's hipbone.

"You're like the missing piece of a puzzle," he says.

Meiko can't fall asleep, knowing this. Knowing how big of an impact this makes on her, the impact she makes on them.

And how important that is to her.

.

(Kaito becomes successful for not only his singing, later, but also for his #1 rated manga series, Urotander Underhanded Rangers. Miku is mortally embarrassed that her boyfriend is a walking meme; Meiko takes it in stride, enlightened when the three of them get to write the soundtrack for the anime together.)

.

If Meiko had confidence in one thing and one thing only, it would be that the darkness does not last forever. The past three years had been an intermezzo in a ballad she hadn't wanted to take part in, but she had, and gritting her teeth and bearing through it had gotten her far.

Because now she lives without knowing loneliness. She wakes day after day excited for what lies ahead, smelling lavender and vanilla and feeling bodies pressed to her on either side, relishing in what it's like to be happy.

(Because now she's nearing the end of her ballad.)

Or perhaps the beginning of another one altogether.

* * *

 **Okay so, SO, I'll admit this one seems kind of rushed? Prbobably? But for reasons explained, because I was having trouble progressing but this was the idea I'd envisioned since I _got the prompt._ So it just ended up as a ton of cut up scenes and I decently like the way it turned out? It took me forever because writing poly is tough but KaiMeiMiku makes me feel _alive_? Bless you Katadenza for giving me this prompt, it was a lot of fun to work with and hopefully it turned out relatively like you would have wanted it to! ;; I love your KaiMikus aaaa.**

 **(Can you count all the stupid cheesy song references I made because I made a lot. And I recommend listening to the songs suggested, too!)**

 **Thank you for the read and I apologize for any grammatical/spelling errors! Until next time!**

 **Next up:** Yuuma/Gumi.


	12. call it what you want (yuuma & gumi)

**Prompt:** They're best friends, close as possible without being in a romantic relationship, yet they both have to deny rumors they've gone that far by everyone and it ticks them off, as no matter what both of them don't see the other that way. What happens when they accidentally kiss during the biggest party of the year; will they vehemently (and pointlessly) deny everything, or give into the pressure of a forced relationship?

 **Pairing:** Yuuma/Gumi.

 **Requested by:** Zephyrius29.

* * *

To Yuuma — and perhaps Yuuma is alone in thinking this, which would not be surprising, his genius considered — it is a very strange and very foreign concept for people to believe that he and Gumi are an item. Really. It is.

They have been friends for as long as he can remember, and his memory is... deceptively extensive. He traces back frequently to when they were toddlers, forced together by the bond of their over-eager parents, and later, to when they were scuffed up elementary schoolers, and Gumi chose to leap off swings and face-plant into mulch while Yuuma preferred reading books in her shadow, idly fixated on her easy, sloppy gracelessness.

Not much has changed since then, not really. They're eighteen, in senior year, and have a few months left before graduation. Everything is moving in slow motion, delirious, like liquid gold passing through a grate.

The only thing that's changed is that everyone — literally _everyone_ , from the student body to the staff — thinks that Gumi is Yuuma's girlfriend. And that's ridiculous, and impossible, because he has been with Gumi since they were in diapers, and thinking of her as his girlfriend is... _weird_. She's a constant presence at his side, the valiant knight that defends him from the darkness of his melancholy, but she is not, nor will she ever be, his girlfriend.

Unfortunately for him — for _them_ , he reminds himself, because Gumi is as disconcerted by the rumors as he is — he somehow manages to screw over his sentiments at the biggest party of the year. A party that Gumi drags him to, claiming, "I'm not going to be responsible for letting you die a suppressed introvert, dude."

Yuuma isn't so easily persuaded, but something about the way she looks at him when she says it has his tongue twisted in knots and his mind pinpointed solely on having her cut out that _stupid_ puppy face, like she's some kicked, abandoned dog he has to take care of.

So they go, and, as far as ideas go, it is probably one of the most moronic.

Yuuma is immediately overwhelmed and unimpressed. He isn't quite a fan of parties, or loud noises, or _Fukase_ , the jerk that's hosting this thing in his stupid mansion while his stupid parents are out doing whatever the fuck adults do. To think, soon he'll be one of those, too, fresh out of school and splayed on the streets job-hunting, or... college-hunting. How do people have time for parties? It's stupid. This is all really stupid.

And, yeah, okay, Yuuma may be a genius, but he does _not_ , by any means, have to use descriptive vocabulary words to describe his feelings, because he sure as fucking hell doesn't have much of a handle on those, either.

"You look like you're constipated," Gumi says as she leads him through a sweaty crowd of familiar, gross faces, fidgeting with the bangles around her too thin wrists. She lofts a dark green eyebrow at him that he sees just out of the corner of his peripheral. "C'mon, you're not scared of a _party_ , are you?"

Yuuma scoffs, shoving her with his shoulder. "The only thing I'm scared of is death by nuclear warfare," he tells her. She retaliates by jamming him up into the doorway leading into the basement, and he rolls his eyes. " _Fine_ ," Yuuma relents. "Parties, too. But can you blame me?" He stops and turns, a flippant hand gesturing to the mass of grinding bodies lit up by shuddering green strobe lights. "It's migraine-inducing. The music doesn't help."

"Yes, I _can_." Gumi shakes out her hair, now hacked crookedly due to, as she calls it, _a sudden urge to come off as dangerous_. With the mascara melting beneath her eyes, she comes off more as a raccoon, but Yuuma is kind enough not to tell her that. "'Cause I'm getting you outta this clusterfuck. You won't freak so much downstairs."

"Downstairs?" Yuuma echoes. He swipes a foot across the top step of the stairs. "You mean... these stairs? It smells like weed and body odor. I'd rather not."

"Don't be a baby," Gumi snorts, cuffing him on the back of his head. Before he can form a coherent retort, Gumi pivots on her heel and begins descending the stairs backwards, sticking her tongue out at him. "C'mon, loser! It'll be fun."

Something about the situation tells Yuuma it will _not_ be fun... but Gumi is giving him that unruly look of hers again, the one that kind of makes his knees shake, makes words thick and gritty on his tongue. "Alright," he finally manages to splutter. He casts a single glance over his shoulder, then hurries down the steps after her, feeling them creak with age beneath his weight.

When he pokes out from around the stairwell corner, he's surprised to find that the basement isn't so much a _basement_ as it is a den. It's cozy. Warm. _Quiet_. He sees Gumi already making herself welcome, accepting two Solo cups from a girl Yuuma recognizes as Yukari — of whom is in his AP Algebra II class and of whom is very, _very_ rude.

Gumi raises one of the Solo cups in the air and waves it at Yuuma, her way of beckoning him over. There is a snarky grin plastered to her lips, the perfect stain of blood across her face.

He analyzes his surroundings — the beige of the walls, the couches and lounge chairs shoved against them, the grey of the carpet, the TV cycling through what appears to be _Naruto_ reruns, of all things, propped up on a wooden desk. A pool table rests by a door with peeling paint that likely hasn't been opened in ages. Currently, Meiko from the volleyball team and Teto from the flower shop appear to be refraining from stabbing each other with their cue sticks.

Fukase is sprawled on one of the couches, his legs kicked into Mayu Shinozaki's lap, and he grins this devastatingly shit-eating grin Yuuma's way, without any mercy. "Hey, hey!" he croons, the red of eyes glinting in the dusty artificial lights strewn from the ceiling. "Don't keep your girlfriend waiting, Yuuma! Give her company for the party."

"Oh, bug _off_ , Two-Face," Gumi snarls, but her expression is calm. Teasing. As Yuuma approaches her, a mess of lanky, awkward limbs, he thinks that he will never understand how she's so... exuberant. How she carries herself with such confidence, such vigor. "Least I have a better chance than _you_ at getting laid," she adds in afterthought, and passes a Solo cup into Yuuma's hand.

"Lies," he says nonchalantly, taking a sip of the Solo cup's contents and wincing when it tastes like rat's ass. He sniffs and flicks Gumi in the temple. "I'd lay a dog before I'd ever lay you."

"Really?" Gumi huffs, amusement flashing in her eyes. She jabs her thumb over her shoulder at Fukase. "Well, in that case, there's one right there. Be my guest."

Yukari drapes herself on Mayu's other side, cuddling up to her side with brazen enthusiasm. "Christ," she snorts, "you two bicker like an old married couple."

In lieu of this, to Fukase, Yuuma says, "Why are you all down here? Isn't the... well, more _exciting_ part of this upstairs? Not... in a basement?" He flicks his gaze around the room, baffled. "I'm sort of confused. I mean, you're the host. This is your _house_. Aren't you worried about the people upstairs ruining it?"

"Pssh, _nah_ ," Fukase muses, flapping a hand dismissively. "I do this all the time. It's to keep my sister off my back. She's always nagging for me to stop being such a prick, to let loose." He laughs. "This is how we compensate."

"If anything breaks, then his parents have the money to replace it," Mayu comments.

Yuuma doesn't respond, too busy staring into the depths of his Solo cup and hesitantly drinking what tastes like chlorine and cinnamon. Once he starts getting it down, it isn't the taste that's so bad; it's more that it burns his throat and sends a rampant tingling into his sinuses.

Eventually, after Yuuma has settled himself on the sofa nearest the TV with Gumi tucked under his arm, nestled into his chest, a few more people stumble downstairs, all of which Yuuma knows, half of which are hammered to the point they're speaking Gibberish: Len and Piko from the robotics team take up as much of Fukase's space as possible; Rin, Miku and Luka from the chorus rile Meiko and Teto up even further in another pool match; Kaito and Ia from Yuuma's Japanese Lit. class make pointed arguments about the English dub of Naruto that Fukase is forcing them to watch; and Dex and Kyo from, most often, detention coddle Fukase's dog and talk politics with Yukari and Mayu.

And, oddly... Yuuma doesn't hate it.

Once he gets as drunk as his peers, he actually _enjoys_ it. Enjoys being here, surrounded by other people, without feeling like he's too smart, like he's soaring too high above them for them to ever understand. Things make sense, sort of, enough that Yukari says something so blunt it has him laughing over the brink of tears.

"I swear to fucking _God_ ," Gumi mumbles into his shirt, "Naruto and Sasuke are fucking — they're _into_ each other, you can't tell me otherwise."

Yuuma smirks against her hair. "But, dude," he protests, "what about Naruto and Gaara?"

" _Don't_!" Piko cries from across the room, and he whips an empty Solo cup at the side of Yuuma's head. "Stop, she's not going to _shut up_ now—"

"Naruto and Sasuke are _meant_ for each other, Yuu, they are — _perfect_ , together, I thought you knew me better than this, I could have _sworn_ that you—" Gumi cuts herself off abruptly to gasp for breath. "I forgot where I was going with this but they are in _love_."

There have been few times when Yuuma has witnessed an intoxicated Gumi. More often than not, he's dealt with the aftermath; Gumi barging into his house at inappropriate hours, collapsing on the floor of his bedroom without heed and demanding Aspirin and a glass of water. He knows better than to deject her, and has always given her careful care, through both her hangovers and her temper.

But it's different, now, with him here beside her, as drunk as she is and fluttering with tepid warmth, cautious but deliberate. His memories of her are so much better when he's a part of them.

So, it's... good. It's all really good, and Yuuma doesn't know why he's been putting off parties for so long if they have the ability to be _this_ good, this alleviating.

Then, minutes before midnight, shit hits the fan and the unthinkable happens.

Well, okay, no. No, maybe not the _unthinkable_ — but certainly the unwanted, in Yuuma's case, because Gumi leads a pack of them upstairs to dance for awhile, and through the haze of his thoughts and the blur of everything that's going on around him (the thrum of the music, bass heavy in his bones, heart beat-beat- _beating_ out his chest), she kisses him.

She leans toward him while they're dancing, her eyes lucid and heathered, and she mumbles words he can't hear; she fists the collar of his jacket, pulls him close, and then she just — she kisses him, and Yuuma may be smart but in that moment, his mind shuts off. He becomes as stupid as he claims everyone else to be and he kisses her back until there is Gumi written all over his lips.

He doesn't know who pulls away first; all he knows is that he feels vaguely like he's going to throw up on either his or Gumi's shoes, and that nearly everyone — _everyone_ , why is it _always_ everyone? — is staring at them. Especially Fukase, and _what_ Yuuma wouldn't give to just deck him, right now.

"Uh," Gumi says, backing up with her palms raised in a mock surrender. Her cheeks are flushed, and she seems sobered, as if a single kiss has ripped the night's fervor directly out of her. "I don't — I _really_ don't know why I just... did that."

"Dude!" someone says from somewhere, pitching out of Yuuma's line of sight, "I _told_ you!"

Yuuma feels the need to revoke that statement, and so he snaps at no one in particular, "We're not _dating_ , for fuck's sake," but it roams, lost in the crowd, reverberating between people who care too much and too little.

When he turns back to address Gumi, she's gone.

.

The rest of that week is miserable.

Gumi is aware that she has made a mistake. Some part of her blames it on being drunk, but another, larger part of her... doesn't. It wants to blame something else, although she has no single, clear idea of what. It's just... There has been this wall between she and Yuuma since they were kids. A wall that separates platonic from romantic. A wall she's taken a mallet to and toppled.

Through all of the rumors and exams and nerves of that week, she and Yuuma don't get to see each other much; he's off studying every day after school at his place as she's running track to improve her shape and form for the next meet. Their schedules don't match up and she can't, she _can't_ get into contact with him.

But she knows as well as he does that people are talking. The kiss and what it means is leaking through the cracks, and Gumi isn't fast enough to patch them. Gossip can go anywhere when you're eighteen and have nothing else to do with your time. It's a fucking shame.

"So, you two going to senior prom together?" Rin asks her on Monday, grinning cheekily with her chopsticks brushing her rice. "You and Yuuma, that is. That kiss was super cute, by the way. Had you guys never kissed before that?"

"I wouldn't've thought Yuuma was into, like, _anyone_ ," Kyo remarks on Tuesday at track, stretching his arms above his head with a loud, angry _pop_. Gumi tries to interject, to say that Yuuma has already said he's about as uninterested in the prospect of relationships as humanly possible, but Kyo is already blurting, "But, I mean, I guess it makes sense that it's you."

Wednesday has Mayu popping up over her shoulder to say, "Yukari and I are trying this new fancy restaurant together this weekend. You and Yuuma wanna tag along?"

On Thursday, Piko furrows his brow at her and mumbles, "If you and Yuuma aren't dating then where the _hell_ does that leave me with Len...? Dude. _Dude_."

"How did you start dating in the first place?" Ia hums on Friday in the art room, seconds after someone has uttered Yuuma's name. She's wiping her paint-smeared fingers on her apron, and the curious aim of her stare doesn't shift in the slightest when Gumi hip-checks her to shut her up.

By Saturday, she's exhausted and witless. There's no use in denying anything anymore — her endeavors are all futile, because the world is so caught up in what everyone that _isn't_ them is doing that they can't even let two friends be at ease with each other. The pressure is overbearing on Gumi's shoulders, this weight that's digging her grave for her. She feels like she _has_ to date Yuuma now, like if she doesn't she's only going to let everyone down.

And on Sunday, early in the morning, she gives up, reaches for her phone, and dials his number.

"Hey, Yuu?" she says. "You there?"

" _Barely_ ," his voice mutters, bleary with sleep and tinged in his annoyance. She hears him rolling over in his sheets, hears the rustle of paper, then: " _Wait, what the fuck? It's 6 am. What the hell do you want?_ "

"Articulate," Gumi snorts, and she slips an arm behind her head. "D'you wanna hang out today? We can meet at the library or at my place. Wherever."

Yuuma chokes on what sounds like a yawn. He recovers, says, " _Sure. Your place. I'll be there at noon,_ " and promptly hangs up; but, true to his word, at noon, he lets himself in and wanders into the kitchen, where she's dancing to cheesy pop music, clad in a pair of shorts and a tank top that hugs her chest a bit too tight.

"I'm not intruding, am I?" he scoffs, and Gumi wheels around to face him, smile splitting her face in half.

"No," she says, "not at all." She waves a spatula at him. "I'm making crepes. Sit."

He obliges, lazily stooping into one of the chairs by the aisle table, his chartreuse eyes sweeping across the kitchen in idle registration. "You can't cook," he notes.

"Nope," Gumi agrees. She goes back to stirring around the slop that's in her pan, unsure of what it is anymore but making it nonetheless.

"Okay," Yuuma says slowly, "so what's the occasion? You wouldn't risk burning your house to the ground for my sake. I hope not, at least."

Gumi reaches toward her to radio to quiet the volume, swinging around and dumping crepe excess onto two plates. The goop is stark brown and matted — certainly not edible — and she delivers a contemplative face before dumping it in the trash, coughing. "Well," she says, already bounding for the fridge, "whatever. I just — you know. Wanted to talk."

"About the fact you kissed me?" Yuuma asks.

Gumi flinches as if she's been struck and delicately draws open the door of the fridge. " _No_ ," she retorts, "but, since you brought it up…"

He sighs, tousling his powder pink hair, elbows resting quaint and tethered on the counter. "I don't really care about what everyone's saying," he mutters. "It doesn't bother me."

"It bothers _me_ ," Gumi says, retrieving a carton of eggs and setting them next to the stove. Even if she sucks at cooking, it's stress-relieving when she doesn't know what to say and ordering when what she has to say is immense.

Yuuma cocks his head at her. "We'll be going off to college in a couple of months, Gumi. No one will remember us. No one will give a damn that we kissed at one party and maybe dated, maybe didn't. It won't be a big deal. Relax. And stop trying to make make an omelette. I'm not hungry."

Gumi tenses. She looks at an egg as she cracks it into the pan and pinches her eyebrows together. "You kissed me back," she mumbles.

"Pardon?"

"I said," Gumi snaps, glaring at him over her shoulder, "you kissed me back!"

"I was drunk," Yuuma says, measured. Knowing. When Gumi ignores him in favor of angrily stabbing at her melting egg, he adds, "Did... Do you _want_ us to date, or something?"

"No! No, _no way_. You're — you're ace and I'm... you're more like my brother, and it's just—" Gumi slumps in defeat. "I don't know. I'm mad at myself for changing the dynamic."

Yuuma huffs. "What dynamic?"

"The — the best friend dynamic!" Gumi shrills, frantically jabbing the spatula at him again. "I fucked it up because I _kissed_ you! I was confused and drunk and you were there, and — doesn't this _change_ everything — ?"

"Gumi," Yuuma reassures, "you will always, _always_ be my best friend. Always. You know that. _I_ know that. This fad that's going around won't change that unless you want it to. Do you?"

"Of course not," Gumi relents, her shoulders drooping. That's the last thing she wants. Losing him. Losing this part of herself that _belongs_ to him, and the memories of herself that are attached to his, one and the same.

"Good." The legs of his chair scrape against the wooden floor. "Now, watch and learn, dweeb. I'm teaching you how to cook."

.

Graduation is overall an awe-inspiring albeit debilitating process that involves Gumi's parents and Yuuma's sister taking far more pictures than necessary of them in their uniforms with their badges clipped to the blazers. The summer heat beats down on them no matter how hard they try to hide from it, and at the end of the day — once all the ceremonies are over and the sun is starting to set — Yuuma and Gumi find themselves seated on the edge of the school's roof.

She leans her head on his shoulder and threads her fingers through his, left palm clasped in his right, the wind whipping a storm of sakura petals up around them. Yuuma sifts through his bag for a minute, then withdraws two bottles of ramune and slips one into Gumi's free hand.

"Ew," she says, scrunching her nose, "you gave me the melon one."

"Yeah," Yuuma says distractedly, "and this one's strawberry. Green and pink. Us."

Gumi blinks. "Oh," she says, and Yuuma laughs in her ear.

They open their ramune on a three count, letting the fizz drip along their wrists and dampen their sleeves, and Gumi profusely chants, "Chug!" when Yuuma lifts his to his mouth. He dumps some on her skirt for kicks; she pours some in his hair, and they snort and snicker and giggle like kids until Gumi almost tumbles off the roof and Yuuma has to catch her.

So they toss their chins back and look at the stars in the silence of evening, smiling despite themselves.

"Hey," Yuuma murmurs, nudging her. "I love you a lot."

"Yeah, I know," Gumi says softly. She taps his ankle with her foot. "I love you, too, man."

Yuuma nods, his grin contagious, and he glances across the courtyard, toward the city. "Can't believe we're going off to different colleges."

"We'll keep in touch," Gumi says.

"Of course we will," Yuuma says, and he pecks her on the cheek and Gumi cuddles up to him again and they don't ask why.

People can say whatever they want, but at heart, the thing that really matters is that they know what they are, when no one else does. They're best friends, bound by the red string of fate, she the valiant knight at his side, he her book-reading shadow, and that is the way it's always meant to be. They'll meet new people and hear bullshit rumors, and they'll make good fun out of it, and they'll be connected, like this, the way that they are.

Loving each other without being in love.

Because love is what you make of it, so make of it what you will.

* * *

 **hi and I love YuumaGumi almost as much as I love life itself th an k you for requesting. I took some liberties with this prompt that I'm not sure I should have, but. well. what can I say... it was fun. lovey dovey best friends that don't let drama get the best of them. friendly reminder, also, that platonic affection is really a common thing.**

 **I hope you enjoyed, and I apologize for any grammatical/spelling errors, as per usual!**

 **and? if anyone would... could I get _maybe possibly_ some m/m lui or f/f miki rarepair prompts? thanks ahead of time, if you so choose to offer!**

 **Next up:** Kaito/Luka.


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